


On Stranger Tides

by theroyalsavage



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Supernatural Elements, hinata is also lowkey very thirsty for boats, kagehina-centric, now featuring a lot more plot than originally intended, the whole thing is kind of pirates of the caribbean-esque actually, weird mythology and general tomfoolery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5256458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroyalsavage/pseuds/theroyalsavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hinata Shouyou is 13 years old, his village is raided by pirates.</p><p>Most everything Hinata knows is destroyed in the attack, lost to the flames, but he and his sister are pulled from the wreckage by a boy with eyes the color of a storm. Their lives are saved, but irrevocably altered - their home is lost forever, and there is something strange about the pirates, something blurry and shadowed and wrong.</p><p>A darkness is rising out of the depths of the ocean. The sea itself is stirring, and nothing can stop it when it wakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. though there be fury on the waves, beneath them there is none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Momo - this is entirely your fault.

BEFORE

At the boundary between dream and reality, the sea catches fire.

The flames stain the ship the color of a sunset, and Hajime momentarily forgets how to breathe. It is as if the world has tilted, spun, fallen out from underneath his feet. They have passed across a borderline. Hajime can feel it in his bones.

Behind him, Watari says, “We found it.” And then, louder, exultant: “We actually _found_ it!”

_We found it_ , Hajime thinks. He turns the words over in his mind, trying to memorize the shape of them.

_We actually found it_.

“Inform the crew,” he tells Watari, in a strangled voice that doesn’t sound remotely like his own. “Quickly.”

“Yes, sir.”

They’ve actually found the Nether.

Hajime thinks he should be pleased. Excited. Relieved, at the very least. Instead, he is nothing. He is numb, and cold, and very, very afraid.

_Seijoh_ rings with the sharp, disorienting sound of alarm bells. It is too loud, too violent and unapologetic and crass in the Nether’s weird, altered air. Hajime watches in silence as the horizon wavers, warps.

The fire below has turned the sky a bloody red.

The crew appears, one by one, lifting themselves out of the trapdoor leading belowdecks. Their blue uniforms are crooked, wrinkled, buttoned wrongly. Kindaichi only wears one boot. But they sprint forward to join Hajime at the prow regardless, and he hears a collective intake of breath behind him.

Kyoutani mutters, “Holy _shit_ ,” and someone – probably Yahaba – frantically quiets him.

The sound of waves whispering against _Seijoh_ ’s hull falters. Fades. It is replaced by the dull crackle of open flames, like breaking glass against the prow.

_We should turn around_ , Hajime wants to say. _This isn’t worth it_.

Instead he calls, sharply, calmly, “Keep an eye out. You know what we’re looking for, and I sure as hell didn’t come all this way just to miss it.”

“Yes, sir,” the crew choruses behind him, but the sound is subdued.

He reaches out, touches the wood bannister that rings the deck of the ship. It’s weirdly comforting – something to remind himself that he exists. “Where’s the captain?” he asks.

The silence that follows is sudden and painful. Hajime’s hands close around the railing, and he squeezes until his knuckles turn white.

“Below deck, sir,” Kindaichi finally says. “In his quarters.”

“Find him,” Hajime says, through gritted teeth. “This is his mission. He’s the one that needs to see it through.”

“Yes, sir,” Kindaichi answers, and Hajime can hear his footsteps as he strides away.

He can’t remember the last time he heard footsteps.

(He never thought he would miss the sound of the ocean.)

“There’s something strange,” Matsukawa observes, evenly. “There’s no wind.”

Hajime frowns.

“We’re still moving, though,” he says.

Matsukawa shrugs. “That’s what’s strange about it.”

Seven faces turn upwards to stare at the sails. Watari’s eyebrows scrunch together, mingled confusion and horror dawning in his expression.

“To your posts,” Hajime orders. He sounds strangled, nervous. The flames stare up at him with their ugly, crimson smiles. “We don’t have time for this. As long as we’re moving I don’t care if there’s no wind.” He pauses, then adds, “Kageyama, stay with me.”

There is a murmur of affirmation, and then Hajime listens to them go. It isn’t until the last footsteps have faded that he brings his gaze down away from the sails.

The boy standing in front of him shifts nervously, his fingers pulling at the hem of his tunic. Hajime can’t remember how old he is – ten, maybe. Eleven. Too young to be on the crew of a pirate ship. Too old to be sailing to the end of the world.

Remorse pulses through Hajime’s chest – for the boy in front of him, for all the things that Hajime has done, for all the things that he is about to do.

The kid blinks at Hajime with eyes the color of storm clouds.

“Kageyama. I have a different job for you.”

Kageyama nods uneasily, his face drawn and pale and tinted orange by the fire. “Yes, sir,” he says.

“When we find the island, I need you to stay and guard the ship.”

Kageyama’s eyes widen. “What? No. I’m coming with you. I can help—”

“I have been first mate of this ship since I was sixteen years old; I’m not leaving her in strange waters unmanned,” Hajime says. “And if something goes wrong while we attempt to complete the mission—”

 “Nothing will go wrong,” Kageyama says, sharply, in that _I-know-best_ voice that drives Kindaichi up the wall.

“But if it does,” Hajime continues, firmly, reaching out to touch Kageyama’s shoulder. “I’m relying on you to get the survivors out. To steer us out of this godforsaken place. Do you understand me, Kageyama?”

Kageyama hesitates, and Hajime almost regrets putting this weight on his shoulders, because there’s no way this child is strong enough to bear it. But then he nods, confidently, resolve hardening on the planes of his face.

Hajime drops his hand from his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, softly, in a voice leaden with gratitude. “Dismissed.”

Kageyama steps backwards, bows sharply. “Yes, sir.”

Hajime watches him walk away.

Across the deck, Watari stands at the helm, his face uncharacteristically serious. Yahaba and Kyoutani bicker, checking and double-checking the lines of the sails. Hanamaki and Matsukawa bend over a map of waters a world away, gazing up towards what should be the north. Kunimi stares out to sea.

Hajime takes a deep, slow breath, and tries not to imagine them dying. All of them, one by one.

And then, the ship lurches.

Kyoutani swears loudly, and Hajime rushes to the helm to help Watari keep _Seijoh_ balanced. The flames below them froth and roil, like water boiling over in a pot. Suddenly, Kunimi announces, “ _There_ ,” and Hajime peers out to sea, spots a blemish on the horizon that can only be an island.

“That’s it,” he says.

“Changing course,” Watari announces. “Adjusting speed. Approximate distance to target is one-point-four-six nautical miles.”

“Better hold on tight,” Hajime says.

The ocean fights them. _Seijoh_ bucks like she’s trying to throw them off, once almost tipping over entirely. But this crew was picked for a reason; they are some of the best sailors in the world, good in a crisis, level-headed and intelligent and strong. Hajime shouts instructions and the crew follows his orders easily, efficiently.

“Almost there,” Watari says.

“Keep her steady,” Hajime answers.

And then, like a miracle, the sea calms. The fire dies, until there is nothing strange about the waves except for a soft glow, like embers, turning the clouds to gold.

The island is close. Close enough to see detail on the shore. Close enough to pick out individual trees from the dense, blackish forest, just inland.

“This place feels wrong,” Kageyama says, and his voice rings in the same way the alarm bells did, right after they fell off the face of the earth.

Shapes flicker on the beach. Shadows. Shades. Voices tap on Hajime’s mind, but they fade when he tries to listen to them. He understands two things: his own name, and the words _turn back_.

“Do you hear that?” Kyoutani demands. “What the fuck—?”

Yahaba murmurs, “Breathe,” and Kyoutani wavers. Hajime watches as their hands find each other.

His own fingers itch.

The door that leads below deck bangs open.

“Oh, dear. It appears I missed the party,” Oikawa chirps. “Oops.”

 “ _Oops_?” Hajime repeats incredulously, striding across the deck to grab Oikawa’s stupid, gaudy overcoat by the lapel. “What kind of shitty-ass response—”

“Show some respect for your captain, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, but there’s no venom in his voice, and he’s smiling slightly. “Now, are you going to let me do my job, or not?”

Hajime lets him go, and Oikawa beams at him, the kind of smile he saves just for Hajime because he knows it makes him weak.

“Whatever, Shittykawa,” Hajime mutters.

Oikawa straightens his jacket and crosses the deck to stare out at the island. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he whispers, reverent and soft.

For a moment, Hajime can’t find it in him to speak.

“Yeah,” he finally confirms.

“ _Incredible_ —”

“Let’s get this over with.”

Oikawa looks at him, and Hajime is full of gunpowder – full of the gold flecks in Oikawa’s eyes, full of the exultation in his face when they were kids first learning to sail, full of the feeling of Oikawa’s hands tracing patterns onto his skin.

(Another world, another life.)

“Aye, aye, captain,” Oikawa says, with a low, sarcastic bow.

“And once this is done,” Hajime says, low and pleading, “come home with me.”

The crew falls silent. Oikawa straightens up, fixes Hajime with a sharp, thoughtful look. This is a conversation they have had a thousand times, a plea Hajime has made more often than he can count. Oikawa’s face is soft as he looks at him. He reaches out, brushes his fingertips across Hajime’s skin.

“You’ve got no sense of adventure, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, a small smile curving his lips.

“Oikawa—”

“Shhh,” he whispers. “Hajime. When all this is over, I’ll go anywhere in the world you want. Even if it _is_ boring.”

And the voices in his head, the shades on the beach, the acrid tang of smoke on the air… Hajime fears none of them anymore.

They disembark, take a dinghy to the shores of the island. The voices grow louder as they grow closer, until they are shouts instead of whispers, screams into the silence. The crew is quiet as they step onto the beach – the sand refracts light like still water, like diamonddust.

“And if this _thing_ you’re looking for doesn’t exist,” Kyoutani asks Oikawa, roughly. “If we came here for nothing. What will you do?”

“Oi,” Yahaba hisses, but Oikawa just shakes his head.

“It exists,” he promises.

“It better,” Kyoutani growls.

They pass into the forest. Mist closes around them. Oikawa’s fingers catch Hajime’s hand. Hajime can feel him shaking.

 (“What happened out there?” Kageyama asks, when they return to the ship shell-shocked and blood-soaked and less human than they used to be.

Hajime shudders and answers, “An awakening.”)

           

TWO YEARS LATER

The night the world ends, Hinata Shouyou dreams of the sea.

It’s not an uncommon occurrence. Growing up in a tiny, coastal town means living with the constant sound of rushing water in your ears; throughout his life, he has dreamt of sailing, of swimming, of skipping across the crests of waves and chasing the line of the horizon. Tonight, though, it’s different. The dream sits strangely on his shoulders. It feels foreign on his tongue.

He is standing on the beach outside his house, staring up at the sky. The sand is cool and fine under his bare feet, and the water tugs gently at his ankles. Soft. Insistent.

Above him, thunder clouds froth and roil. Shouyou’s world is stained shades of blue – ash and cobalt and robin’s egg – and, suddenly, the waves hurt his feet, blister his skin. They are searing, acidic.

Thunder splits the sky, cannon fire inside Shouyou’s chest.

And then, behind him, a voice says, “You’re in danger.”

Shouyou turns around. The voice, it transpires, belongs to a boy about his own age, tall and dark-haired, with eyes that seem to contain the ocean itself.

When their eyes meet, the boy’s face twists into a scowl. He is absurdly pretty, even frowning, delicate-featured and broad-shouldered and jagged, like broken glass. Annoyance blooms in Shouyou’s chest, as well as something else. Something he cannot name.

“Something’s coming,” the boy says. “Take your family and get out. As fast as you can.”

Shouyou shakes his head. “What are you talking about? Get out of where? The house?”

“The town. Get inland. Tell your neighbors.”

“ _What_?” Shouyou tries to take a step, but the sea will not let him move. “That’s stupid. You want me to leave my home, and you’re not even telling me anything! _What’s_ coming?”

The boy steps forward, grabs his arm. His fingertips are calloused, warm. Shouyou’s body is hyperaware of the point of contact. “It doesn’t matter what,” he says, high-pitched and frustrated. “What matters is that you need to get out. _Now_.”

There is a soft purr, a whisper gentle as the wind, and suddenly the sea is on fire, flames licking at Shouyou’s legs instead of waves.

The boy’s shoulders stiffen. “It’s too late,” he says.

The dream shatters.

 

Shouyou wakes up in bed with a violent start, bed sheets tangled around his ankles. His pulse comes heavy and hard. For a moment, he’s confused, his vision full of the boy in his dream, of those stormy blue eyes, of the way his touch on Shouyou’s arm made Shouyou’s chest feel full of lightning.

Across the room, Natsu snores softly and Shouyou is yanked back to earth.

“A bad dream,” he whispers to himself. “That’s all.”

_Something’s coming_ , the boy had said. And then, _It’s too late_.

Shouyou shudders and fights his way out of the blankets. He gets dressed silently by the light of the moon, trying not to bump anything and wake Natsu. And then he creeps out of the bedroom, through the tiny kitchen, and out of the house.

The Hinata household overlooks the sea. Shouyou follows the narrow, rocky path down the hill to the beach, trying to focus on the way his feet feel on the earth – cool, solid, and _real_.

_Something’s coming_.

The sea is choppy tonight. The moonlight refracts off the waves, scattered in a hundred thousand different directions. Shouyou’s eyes trace the horizon and he bounces in place a little, up and down, on the balls of his feet.

The brine on the air smells like hope, and apprehension, and dreams.

(When Shouyou was small, his father told him sailing was like flying.

“Because humans don’t have wings,” he said, “we look for ways to fly.”

“I’m going to become a sailor,” Shouyou had answered. “I’m going to join the Royal Guard, and travel the world, and see everything, Dad. I promise.” He told lots of people that, when he was a kid. His father was the only one who ever believed it.)

On the horizon, right where Shouyou is looking, there is a waver. A blemish. Something that isn’t right, isn’t possible. It brings him back to the present.

He blinks. Rubs sleep from his eyes. Blinks again.

It is a ship.

It is a ship, appearing out of nothing, assembling itself out of shadow, piece by piece.

“What the _hell_?” Shouyou whispers, stepping out into the waves. The ship is definitely just _appearing_. It didn’t sail here. It’s not approaching from a distance. It wasn’t here, and now it is, simple as that. A pitch-black ship, huge and graceful and refined. Soaked with moonlight.

Lined with cannons.

Flying the skull and crossbones.

“No.” Shouyou hears himself say it, from what feels like a million miles away. “No. No. God, no.”

The first cannon fires, as if in response.

The world stands still.

Shouyou sprints back up the hill, back to his house, even as the first screams begin and the first fires start. He is panicking, he knows he’s panicking, the fear is heavy and thick and _everywhere_ , coating his limbs, weighing him down, making it hard to breathe.

“Natsu!” he screams as he bursts through the door of their home. “Natsu, please, we need to go, we need to run!”

In the bedroom, Natsu stirs slowly. Shouyou shakes her shoulder and repeats, “We need to run!” before dashing back to the window to watch the invading pirates land on the beach. They are dressed in black, head to toe, and it’s hard to tell – between the distance and the darkness – but Shouyou thinks they look fuzzy around the edges. The way the sky looks before a storm.

He doesn’t have time to think about why.

Natsu sits up in bed. “What’s wrong?” she says, and Shouyou wants to cry, but he can’t, he can’t let himself.

“We’re being invaded,” he answers, and his voice is surprisingly calm. He inwardly congratulates himself before going back to being scared sick.

“ _Invaded_?” Natsu’s eyes widen. “By what?”

“Pirates. Get dressed, quick. We need to get out of here.”

She nods tremulously and scrambles out of bed, and Shouyou leaves to give her some privacy.

_Something’s coming_ , the boy from his dream says inside his mind. _You need to get out. Now_.

_Impossible_.

How could Shouyou possibly dream of a boy who could see the future?

(Hang on. Does that mean it’s _Shouyou_ who can see the future? He stares down at his own hands, confused. If he can see the future, shouldn’t he have noticed by now?)

And then Natsu is at his side, giving a harsh, shuddering sob, and Shouyou is yanked back to earth, back to his little seaside home, now thick with the smell of smoke and gunpowder.

There is a heavy, humid _boom_ that shakes the earth, jars Shouyou down to his very core.

_Breathe,_ the boy’s voice says, inside his head. _Get out of there._

“Okay,” Shouyou says. He takes Natsu by the hand, gently, and says, “I’m going to grab food and stuff. Wait for me by the door, okay? And if you hear someone coming, run.”

She nods, lip trembling like she’s about to cry, and heads for the front of the house. Shouyou grabs provisions, as much as he can fit in a simple cloth bag, double-checking their bedroom one last time for anything important.

“Okay,” he says, again. “I’m fine.”

He is in the doorway, reaching out for Natsu’s hand, telling her, “Don’t let go, whatever you do,” when the house collapses.

For a moment, he thinks he is dead. The world turns to black and white and shades of red. He hears Natsu screaming, hears the sound of distant fighting growing closer, closer, until it is all around him, dragging him under, drowning him.

_Help_ , he wants to say.

Shouyou is thirteen. He is thirteen. His sister is crying for help. His town is burning around him. He is trapped in the wreckage of his own home.

He is thirteen, and the world is ending.

He takes a deep breath, then tries to push himself up off his stomach. The weight of the rubble above him holds him down – he can’t manage to get his hands flat, can’t pull his hips free.

“Fuck,” he says, before remembering that his sister is only a couple feet away. “I mean, darn. Dang it.”

And then a voice says, above him, “I told you to get out, dumbass.”

Shouyou doesn’t have to look up to know who it is. He doesn’t think he _can_ look up, actually. There is dust in his lungs, in his eyes. Maybe he’s just stunned. Maybe he’s hurt enough that he’ll die here. He doesn’t know.

The boy from his dream stoops down in front of him and begins clearing debris away from his body.

(He is just as breathlessly beautiful illuminated by moonlight as he was illuminated by fire. Shouyou’s eyes trace his face – there is a faint latticework of scars on his skin that weren’t visible in the dream. His hair is silky and straight, falling gracefully across his forehead and into his eyes. Shouyou’s eyes drop to his lips for a split second before he remembers where he is, how they’re probably all going to die.

_Fuck_ , he repeats, fiercely, in his mind.)

“You’re fine,” the boy tells him, harshly. “But I need you to help me dig you out. I can’t do it alone.”

“My sister,” Shouyou manages.

“She’s fine, too,” the boy snaps. He jerks his chin behind him; Shouyou peers out, and sees Natsu standing where their front path used to be.

“Take her to safety,” Shouyou begs. “Please. I’ll get myself out. You need to help her.”

“I’m not taking anyone anywhere,” the boy says, and Shouyou squints at him. Thinks. Processes.

The realization takes a couple seconds. The boy is wearing all black – his coat, his boots, his trousers – except for what looks like a strip of fabric torn off a shirt, which is pale blue and wrapped around his wrist. He wears a pistol strapped to one of his thighs, a sword hanging in a scabbard off the other. Those scars on his face… the purpling bruises on his skin…

“You’re one of them,” Shouyou realizes. “Oh, my God.”

The boy grits his teeth.

“Get away from me,” Shouyou shouts, trying frantically to push himself away, but only succeeding in getting himself stuck deeper in the rubble. “Get away from me, get away from my sister!”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re the reason we need help in the first place!”

He glares at Shouyou, and his eyes are made of midnight and summertime and the sea. Shouyou decides that he hates him.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me what to do! I’m not an idiot! You’re the idiot, idiot!”

From outside the pile of rubble, Natsu yells, “Are you _kidding_ me?”

Shouyou scowls. “Okay. Fine. Fine, whatever. Just get me out of this.”

The boy nods curtly and kneels down, helping Shouyou to dislodge the rock around him. It is frantic, slow work, Shouyou’s heart pounding erratically in his chest. The boy keeps glancing up nervously and then meeting Shouyou’s eyes with an expression close to desperation. Once or twice, their hands brush, and Shouyou jerks away.

“We need to hurry,” the boy growls.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. A-Collapsing-House-Didn’t-Fall-On-Me.”

“Are you always this childish?”

“Are you always this _annoying_?”

They glare at each other before getting back to work, both of them moving faster than before. Finally, Shouyou is able to use his legs to push himself up and out of the hole, scrambling back onto his feet. His torso is sore, one of his ankles almost definitely sprained, but he’s alive.

He sways, and the boy catches his arm, keeps him from falling.

Shouyou yanks his arm away. “Leave me and my sister alone—” he starts to say.

 “Tobio-chan. What are you doing?”

The boy freezes. Shouyou turns, slowly, to watch a tall, tall man stroll around the corner of his collapsed home.

He is handsome, probably, Shouyou thinks. Brown hair, light eyes, an easy smile. Like the boy, his clothes are all black, but they are unmistakably finer, and deliberately so. A black overcoat, trimmed in the same blue the boy wears around his wrist. Leather trousers, boots, and vest. He wears a grand, wide-brimmed hat, tipped slightly, on his head.

The hat of a captain.

The hat of a pirate king.

_Fuck_ , Shouyou thinks again, a lot less calmly.

“Captain,” the boy begins, but the man raises a hand. His outline is weird, blurred, blending in with the background. He is here, but he isn’t; he is human, but he isn’t. It sets Shouyou’s hair on end.

Shouyou sidesteps, puts himself between the newcomer and his sister. The boy moves forward, too, and steps in front of Shouyou.

“They’re innocent, Captain Oikawa, sir,” he says, ducking his head respectfully, and Shouyou wants to throw up. “They don’t have it.”

“We don’t have time to babysit, Tobio-chan,” the man drawls. He has a dangerous voice. A sugary voice. The kind of voice that makes men take walks off the gangplank without putting up a fight. “If they don’t have it, put a bullet in them.”

The boy (Tobio?) tenses. Shouyou eyes him, the lines of his shoulders, the slope of his back, the color of his hair.

Natsu reaches out, finds Shouyou’s hand.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

Captain Oikawa’s eyes snap to Shouyou’s face, and for a moment, he wavers – Shouyou can see it. He looks at Natsu with something close to grief on his face, and Shouyou squeezes Natsu’s hand more tightly; the last thing he wants is for his sister to be kidnapped and… and spirited away by some pirate king.

“If you’re not going to kill them,” he says, eventually, in a much more subdued voice, “leave them here and do your job.”

“I’m going to help them get out of town,” Tobio says, firmly.

Shouyou’s eyes widen.

Oikawa sucks in an annoyed breath through his teeth. “I’m giving you a direct order, Tobio-chan.”

“I understand, sir. But I need to help these people leave, first.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at Shouyou, eyes him up and down. And then his mouth breaks into a smile, and laughter bubbles up out of his chest. His teeth catch the light pointedly, in the same way the moon reflects off the ocean.

“Fine. Do what you want,” he says, dismissively.

Tobio winces. He turns his back on Oikawa and strides to Shouyou’s side, barely hesitating before he swings Natsu up and onto his shoulders.

“Follow me,” he mutters.

Shouyou sprints after him immediately. The captain stands behind them, bathed in moonlight. It isn’t until they’re farther away that Shouyou realizes that his hands and face are splattered with blood.

 

Tobio leaves them fifteen minutes outside of town, on the road leading to King’s City.

“It’s about a day on foot,” he says, quietly, putting Natsu back on her feet. “Just follow the path, and don’t come back.”

Shouyou stares at him. “You disobeyed your captain,” he says. “You’ll probably be killed.”

A muscle jumps in Tobio's jaw. “I think I know my own crew better than you do.”

“ _Why_ , then? Why would you help me?”

He ducks his head, his hands balled into fists at his sides. When he finally whispers, “I don’t know,” his voice breaks in a way that makes Shouyou’s chest hurt.

“Well. Thanks anyway, I guess,” he says, trying his damndest to sound normal. “For saving us. Say thank you, Natsu.”

Natsu nods solemnly. “Thank you, Mr. Pirate Man.”

“It’s Kageyama,” the boy says. And then, much more quietly, “You can call me Kageyama.”

“Thank you, Kageyama-san!” Natsu chirps.

Kageyama’s eyes widen and he ducks his head. “It was nothing.”

Shouyou manages a weak smile. “Thanks for the help, Bakageyama.” The smile becomes less strained at the look of outrage on Kageyama’s face. “I hope you don’t get yourself killed.”

The night the world ends, Hinata Shouyou dreams of the sea. And, every night after that, he dreams of cannon fire and gunpowder, and the exact, precise color of Kageyama Tobio’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be taking some artistic license with this one, since basically all my knowledge of the time period comes from movies and books. Also, I know next to nothing about sailing. So if you notice anything that's way out in left field, please let me know!
> 
> Edit: now with [some beautiful art by the very talented m-arci-a](https://m-arci-a.tumblr.com/post/161506593180/tobio-commissioned-by-the-author-of-on-stranger)! Also, [an absolutely lovely Captain Kuroo](http://theroyalsavage.tumblr.com/post/151593086020/vy2-roro-after-5-hours-and-lots-of-breaks-ive)!


	2. the young, the bright, the fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are best left buried.

Most of the time, the nightmares start the same.

Shouyou is standing on the deck of a ship he's never once seen while awake, built from wood so dark it’s basically black. The ship is incredible, sleek and well-kept and built for close combat. There’s a flag hanging from the mast, sky blue shot through with white, emblazoned with a name he doesn’t recognize.

Years pass, but the dream never changes. In his mind, Shouyou is trapped in the tiny, skinny body of his thirteen-year-old self. He’s not wearing his uniform, and he’s definitely not armed – instead, he’s barefoot, in simple pants and a too-large shirt he vaguely recognizes from his childhood.

Vulnerable. Weak.

There’s a weird whispering in his ears, close to wind but not quite. The ship is empty, though; there’s no crew, only him and his cold feet and the voices, fluid against his ears.

He pads over to the side of the ship and gazes out, and, suddenly, about a hundred meters away, there is land. Silhouettes stalk the beach, not-people, not-bodies.

Behind him, a voice whispers, “Oh, my God.”

He whips around, fists up, heart pounding in his throat, only to find himself staring at eleven-year-old Kageyama. He’s clutching the railing, staring out at the island with something akin to horror in his eyes. And now there are real, actual humans stepping out of the jungle and onto the beach, moving towards the water slowly.

They are fading. Shouyou can see it.

Kageyama stumbles backwards, hugs his arms around himself. He mouths, “It’s only a dream,” and his voice sounds more like a sob.

Shouyou repeats the words inside his own mind. _It’s only a dream._

 _It’s only a dream_.

Where is the boundary between dream and reality?

The ship’s crew boards quickly and silently. Their clothes are torn, their skin covered in blood and dirt, their eyes blown wide. Every once in awhile, their pupils flicker black.

“What happened?” Kageyama asks. It sounds like a plea.

“An awakening,” one of them tells him. It sounds like a curse.

The vision changes. Shouyou is standing with the same crew in the smoldering ruins of a familiar town. The captain – Shouyou can’t remember his name, but he thinks it starts with an o, or maybe a b – throws a sword to the ground at a slightly older Kageyama’s feet.

“Pick it up,” he says.

Kageyama stoops down, takes up the weapon with a steady hand. His eyes are serious, his face set, but there is the slightest hint of a tremor in his lip. A thirteen-year-old boy, up against a pirate king.

“Oikawa,” one of the others says – a dark-haired man with serious eyes and a heavy scowl.

Oikawa ignores him.

“You beat me,” he tells Kageyama cheerfully, “and you walk. You lose, I put a bullet through your skull and leave your body for the seagulls. Sound fair?”

“Yes,” Kageyama says. And then, automatically, “Captain.”

Oikawa’s eye twitches. “Don’t call me that,” he says. “I’m not your captain anymore.”

They take their stances, facing each other, and Shouyou tries to take a step forward, put himself between them, but the dream is melting away again, dissolving to shadow beneath his feet, and suddenly he is grown again. At the helm of a much more familiar ship. Passing across a borderline.

Lightning flashes over his head and Kageyama screams, “ _No_!”

Shouyou turns in time to watch him fall.

 

Time is a funny thing.

Natsu forgets first. She forgets _easily_. She was only a child the night of the attack, after all, too young to understand what was going on in the first place. Shouyou isn’t surprised when he asks her how much she remembers and she responds with, “Not a lot.”

“Fire,” she tells him, and her voice is remarkably calm and unaffected. “Lots of fire. I remember you being trapped under a house, too. And someone helped us, I think. That’s all.”

_Someone helped us, I think._

_That’s all_.

Shouyou’s almost jealous. Of his little sister.

How stupid is that?

It’s not like he doesn’t move on, because he does. He _has_ to, if he wants to stay sane. The attack grows distant in his mind, but in a different way than it does for Natsu. He _forces_ it down, buries it six feet under (along with his village and his childhood and his parents). He doesn’t talk about it, because it’s simpler not to – it’s much easier to smile and laugh and forget.

He’s good at it, too. Good at pretending. Except around open flames, or when faced with boys around his age with dark hair and blue eyes.

It’s much harder to shake off the dreams.

When he’s a teenager, living alone with his sister, it’s not so bad. Natsu doesn’t mind when he wakes up screaming; she holds his hand, wipes the sweat off his forehead with clean cloth. When he turns seventeen, enlists with the Royal Guard, and moves into the naval barracks, it gets… harder.

It’s lucky he was never one for blending in, because, in the Guard, he stands out like a sore thumb. Strange Hinata Shouyou, with his orange hair and his wide, awe-struck eyes and his nightmares.

His squadron gets used to him eventually, and he gets used to them. That’ll happen, he guesses, when you live with the same seven people for five years straight. The nightmares never go away, though. They cling to him.

Time is a funny thing.

Hinata Shouyou is twenty-two, and, since the age of thirteen, he hasn’t slept a night without watching Kageyama Tobio die.

 

_The Eastern Port_

_3.62 km from King’s City_

_09:30 hours_

“It feels like rain,” Suga announces, his hands in his pockets and his face tipped up towards the sky. People push past him in both directions, jostling him like a tide.

Asahi pauses, midway through lifting a trunkful of cargo to be hauled onboard the ship. Sweat drips down his neck and below the collar of his shirt – the sun is relentlessly, searingly hot today. Asahi can’t for the life of him imagine it raining.

But still. Asahi’s known Sugawara for years now. They’ve worked at this shipyard together since they were thirteen. Suga’s always been a little strange, sure, but never once has Asahi known him to be wrong.

“We should pack it up, then,” he says, lowering the cargo to the deck. “We can disembark tomorrow instead. Want me to tell the boss—?”

Suga frowns, his eyes on the horizon.

“Not that kind of rain.”

Asahi feels his insides grow cold.

One of the other crew members, passing behind them, snorts and shakes his head. They get that a lot – weird, dreamy, sharp-eyed Sugawara and his large, nervous friend. Asahi flushes, takes Suga’s arm, and pulls him aside, into the shadow of the ship’s hull. Away from the crowd. “What do you mean?” he whispers urgently.

“A tipping point,” Suga mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “An awakening. I don’t know. I can feel it, but I can’t make sense of anything. It’s all – dammit. I don’t know. Shadowy.”

“Shadowy,” Asahi repeats.

Suga nods.

Asahi doesn’t understand what that means. He doesn’t understand what Suga means a lot of the time, actually. What he _does_ understand is business, and if they’re not going to be making deliveries today, the boss needs to know sooner rather than later.

“Should we call the shipment off?” he asks. “There’s still time.”

“No.” Suga’s expression hardens. “Whatever’s coming – it’s part of me, Asahi. Part of my path. Mine and yours. We can’t avoid it.”

Asahi winces. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me either,” Suga says.

On the horizon, a dark spot wavers.

 

_King’s City_

_Barracks of the Royal Guard, Squadron 61_

_23:50 hours_

“Sorry to gather you all here on a night off. There’s news, and you won’t like it.”

Shouyou snaps to attention as his captain enters the room, shoulders set and jaw clenched. The crew’s muttering quiets uncharacteristically, almost _alarmingly_ quickly. Daichi’s always had a commanding presence, sure, but this goes beyond that. There’s a chill in the room, sitting heavy in the air. Even an outsider could feel it.

“At ease,” Daichi says. He reaches up to rub a hand through his hair, which looks slept-on – flat on one side, standing straight up on the other. There are purpling circles under his eyes. “This is gonna be a long night.”

The Royal Guard is… _different_ from Shouyou’s expectations, to be honest. When he was a kid, he dreamed of sailing, of the ocean, of freedom. The reality is much less glamorous – being a member of the Guard means late nights, painstaking drills, and hours of wading through bureaucratic bullshit. It means standing up straight when he’s called to attention, wearing his nice uniform on days of an inspection.

It meant weeks of embarrassing himself in basic training, when he was seventeen and nervous, when he didn’t even know how to hold a sword properly and couldn’t tell the bow of a ship from the stern.

It meant learning how to get along with a squadron he was assigned to randomly, working under a captain only a couple years older than him, learning to take orders.

And, now, it means being surrounded by some of the most gifted sailors alive. Which is both exciting and majorly terrifying.

At Shouyou’s side, Yachi Hitoka shifts nervously. He bumps her with his shoulder and offers her a weak, slightly pained smile, but her face stays solemn.

“There’s been an attack,” Daichi announces, and the smile dies on Shouyou’s face. “On a merchant ship about half a nautical mile off the Eastern Port.”

Yachi’s eyes widen. “So close,” she says.

Shouyou blurts, “What the hell, though? That’s a _really_ big city.”

Across the room, leaning against the medical equipment, Kiyoko frowns at him. “Hinata-kun. Let Daichi finish.”

Daichi waves a hand, his face still drawn and serious. “No, no. Hinata’s right. No pirate crew has ever hit anywhere this densely populated _or_ this close to King’s City before. Whoever these bastards are, they’re getting bolder.”

“Or more desperate,” Ennoshita offers flatly.

“Do we have a report on the attack yet?” Kiyoko asks. “Eyewitness accounts?”

Tsukishima makes a short, irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Why are we getting involved, anyway?” he demands. “We’re not policemen. We’re naval officers. Unless they think we can get on a ship and hunt the perpetrators down through sheer force of will…”

“I was getting to that,” Daichi points out mildly.

Tsukishima makes a hand gesture Shouyou understands to mean, _get the fuck on with it, then_.

Daichi sighs. “It’s… complicated. That’s why I called you to a meeting so late. It seems that there have been reports of something… rather odd, about this particular attack.”

“Something odd,” Tsukishima repeats, crossing his arms over his chest. “You might need to be a little more specific.”

“About the pirates,” Daichi clarifies. “They…” He hesitates, seemingly trying to get his thoughts in order. “Well. It sounds like they appeared out of thin air.”

Yachi’s jaw drops and Kinoshita half-shouts, “ _Eh_?” Kiyoko’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise.

Shouyou blinks.

“Wait,” he says. “Wait. Captain—”

Daichi nods. “Yeah. I know. The reports are almost identical. The only difference is, this time they came in the middle of the day and left the coastline alone.”

Narita half-raises a hand. “I don’t understand,” he says. “What are you guys…?”

There is a palpable shift in the air when the others figure it out. Six pairs of eyes snap to Shouyou’s face, wide and stunned. Even Tsukishima looks a little shaken.

 “Oh, my God, Hinata-kun,” Yachi realizes. “This is—”

Tsukishima says, very slowly, “This is exactly like what happened to you.”

“That’s why we’re running point on this one, instead of the local authorities,” Daichi says. “Admiral Ukai thinks that Hinata’s experience might help us figure out what the hell is actually going on here.”

“But!” Yachi blurts. “They’re making Hinata-kun walk into a situation just like one of his most traumatic childhood memories! That’s – that’s a _terrible_ idea! The psychological effects alone—”

Kiyoko nods. “Hitoka-chan’s right. As a medic, and as Hinata-kun’s friend, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Shouyou’s in motion before he fully understands what he’s doing. “I want to go,” he says fiercely, grabbing Daichi’s arm. “I need to—”

Daichi’s eyes are serious and calm, and Shouyou finds himself paralyzed.

“I need to,” he repeats.

What? He needs to _what?_

What does he think he’ll find, in the wreck of a merchant’s ship off the coast of the Eastern Port? His destroyed village? His lost childhood? Answers?

Shouyou’s hands ball into fists. “I want to go,” he repeats.

Daichi’s gaze is steady on his. “Good. The Eastern Port is only a half an hour or so from here. We’re being dispatched to interview the survivors, contain the damage, and try to extrapolate who this pirate crew is. What their next move will be. By order of the crown.”

“Hinata-kun,” Kiyoko says, quietly. “This really might be too close to home for you. If you don’t think you can do the job properly… if you think going there will hurt too much…”

Shouyou’s jaw clenches down. “It won’t,” he says fiercely. “I can do this.”

Kiyoko’s eyebrows furrow, but she nods anyway.

“We’re splitting into groups,” Daichi says. “Ennoshita, Kinoshita, Narita, I’m sending you into the water to sweep the area. For possible survivors, salvageable parts of the ship, anything. Tsukishima, Shimizu-san, I need the two of you to tend to the injured. Hinata and Yachi are going to run a patrol along the beach. I’m not taking any chances of something slipping through our fingers. You understand?”

The squadron nods as one.

“Yes, sir,” Shouyou hears himself say.

Daichi claps a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Now, get some sleep. We’re leaving at soon as it’s light enough to travel.”

 

_The Eastern Port_

_3.62 km from King’s City_

_08:50 hours_

The ship, it turns out, is destroyed. Totally, utterly ruined. The remains of the hull are charred and blackened, arranged on the beach like a skeleton, like dead trees. The beach and the area around it are cordoned off, by order of the crown, but there are people in the wreckage anyway. Employees of the company that owned the ship, probably. Trying to contain the damage.

There are a few bodies, too. Daichi takes it upon himself to handle those.

The sun burns on Shouyou’s face and the back of his neck. He tugs on the collar of his uniform jacket, black and sharply starched and pristine. He stares out at the ruins. _If I had gone back that night_ , he realizes, _that’s what I would’ve found. Empty homes and corpses._

Tsukishima and Kiyoko work quickly, setting up a first-aid base in one of the buildings that line the port. For a second, Shouyou considers offering to help them, but he’s an abysmal medic anyway, and they’re both highly trained. Neither would thank him for getting in their way.

“Patrol?” he says to Yachi, and she nods, wraps her arms around herself.

“It feels… weird,” she says. “Eerie. I don’t know. It’s like walking through a graveyard.”

Above their heads, seagulls cry.

They step over the wreckage of the ship, the blackened wood crumbling underneath their boots, and begin to wind their way away from the piers, down the beach. Shouyou’s not really sure he knows what they’re looking for. Bodies, probably. Hints of the attacker’s place of landing and their escape. Valuables.

There’s not much to find. Driftwood and sand, mostly. Some small chunks of the destroyed ship, washed to shore by the waves.

It’s nice, though. To be back on the water. It feels natural. Shouyou releases a breath he feels like he’s been holding for years.

 “Yachi-san, have you ever been to this coast?” Shouyou asks, stooping down to pick up a shard of sea-glass, tampered greenish by the waves.

Yachi shakes her head. “No, never. My hometown was pretty far inland, you know. Going to the ocean was pretty rare.”

Shouyou smiles, scuffs the ground with his toe. Ash flakes off on the tip of his boot. “I grew up in a town like this,” he says. “A lot smaller, though, I guess.”

The beach seems to stretch on for miles and miles and miles.

“The ocean’s nice today,” Shouyou says cheerfully. The water really is glorious, the waves gentle but insistent, sparkling and stained almost golden. The air is so familiar to Shouyou, the feeling of sand beneath his boots.

And then Yachi reaches out and grabs hold of his sleeve. “Hinata-kun,” she gasps. “Hinata, look. Oh, my God.”

Shouyou looks.

“What—?”

There is a body lying facedown on the beach.

Yachi is running forward before Shouyou can say anything. She drops onto her knees beside the boy on the sand and grabs his shoulders, turns him over. She presses her fingers to the hollow below his chin and counts off, her mouth moving silently.

“He’s alive,” she pronounces, after a couple seconds. “And his pulse is pretty strong. I’m gonna try and find the problem, see if we can move him back to first-aid.”

Shouyou crouches down beside her, takes stock as quickly as possible. The boy is probably around their age, with messy, dark, just-barely-too-long hair and a heavy lattice-work of scars over his tan skin. He’s taller than Shouyou by a good half a foot – broader, too, with solid shoulders and lean muscles. His clothes are ruined, hopelessly torn and covered with beach sand, but they don’t look like they were nice to begin with – a dark tunic and jacket, simple trousers, bare feet.

 _Oi. Wake up_ , he thinks. _Wake up, I don’t think I can carry you all the way back to the port._

“He doesn’t have any external injuries,” Yachi’s saying. “But he’s not responding to me at all. It’s likely he’s experienced some blunt trauma to the head—”

She keeps talking – something Shouyou can’t understand about internal bleeding and the physiological results of possible prolonged exposure to the elements – but Shouyou doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear much of anything, actually.

There’s something strange inside his mind. Something weird and static-y and insistent. Something that gets louder every time he looks at this boy.

“—so basically the main problem is… Hinata-kun? What are you doing?”

What is he doing?

What is he _doing_?

Shouyou reaches down, touches the boy’s cheek with halting, trembling fingers. The slightest hint of pressure. He’s surprisingly warm, alive under Shouyou’s touch. And clarity bursts to life in Shouyou’s mind – a little missing piece, snapping back into place.

The boy’s eyes fly open.

Shouyou screeches and shoots backwards. Yachi screams, too, grabbing onto Shouyou’s bicep, her other hand flying towards the sword hanging at her waist. The boy rockets upright, clutching his hand to his chest, his breath coming heavy and hard. He lifts his gaze, stares at Shouyou with something akin to incredulousness.

Their eyes meet.

Shouyou’s world grinds to a halt.

“What,” Kageyama says, “the fuck.”

 “Oh, my god,” Shouyou whispers. “Holy _shit_ , it’s _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been battling with the universe this takes place in for awhile - I originally wanted it to be set in Japan, but I feel like I don't know enough about Japanese history and politics to do it justice. So I scrapped that idea. And now I'm just sorta making it up as I go. #oops #sorry
> 
> Thank you so much for your support so far! Your comments and kudos really mean so much to me.


	3. skin and bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which several moving pieces come together.

_It’s not him._

(It’s him.)

_It can’t be him._

(It’s him.)

_You were never supposed to meet him again._

(It’s him.)

Kageyama Tobio has grown a lot, over the course of nine years. He has broader shoulders, new scars, a meaner scowl, shorter hair. His clothes are shabby, not like the ones he wore the night of the raid. There is a tattoo on his collarbone, a pattern like birds taking flight, right next to a raw-looking burn scar in the shape of the letter _P_.

But his eyes. Jesus, his eyes.

His eyes are exactly, precisely the same.

_It’s him._

(It’s him.)

Shouyou can’t think. His mind is full of static, a million different frenzied thoughts, all layered one on top of another. He thinks he hears someone say his name, but the sound is faraway and warped. Distorted. Like he’s underwater. All he understands are the words ‘it’s him’ – he is real, _here_ , for the first time since they were thirteen.

His fingertips burn, where they’d touched Kageyama’s cheek.

Kageyama’s eyebrows are furrowed. He’s staring at Shouyou, confusion passing across his pretty, scarred face. _He forgot_ , Shouyou realizes, stunned. _He forgot me_. And then Kageyama mumbles, “I told you to get out, dumbass.”

Shouyou’s heartbeat stutters to a stop.

Kageyama shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear water from his ears. “Why… you’re… no. No, this isn’t… You’re not…” He groans, soft and low, a sound that resonates in Shouyou’s throat, and slumps back down onto the sand. “This isn’t real,” he says, his eyes fluttering closed, and Shouyou’s chest goes cold.

Kageyama’s breathing slows.

Shouyou slaps him.

Kageyama jerks upright again, clutching his cheek and screaming, “What the _hell_ , you _moron_?” Yachi shrieks, too, scrambling backwards. Shouyou ducks under the punch Kageyama swings at him, squawking, “Sorry, sorry, I thought you were dying! I was trying to help!”

Kageyama glares at him, his breath coming hard and ragged. Shouyou thinks that he’d look pretty scary if he wasn’t about half a minute away from passing out. “What the hell? You thought the best way to stop me from dying was to _slap_ me in the _face_? Are you _stupid_?”

“I _said_ I was sorry,” Shouyou points out, a little more petulantly than he originally intended.

“Moron,” Kageyama repeats, but some of the vitriol is gone from his voice, and now he just sounds tired.

Yachi makes a noise that sounds like _guh_.

“Hinata,” she says, slowly. “Do you... know this person?”

Shouyou considers it. “Sort of?” he settles on.

“Sort of,” Yachi repeats. “Okay. Um, could you… step back a bit? I need to check him over.”

Shouyou nods and gets to his feet, beats sand off his trousers. Yachi moves closer to Kageyama’s side, peering into his eyes, one after the other.

 “Can you stand?” she asks him, reaching forward like she’s going to try and take his pulse. “I don’t have any first-aid materials here, and I don’t think Hinata and I can carry you all the way back to the port.”

“I don’t need first-aid,” Kageyama snaps, drawing away from Yachi’s touch. His gaze keeps leaving Yachi’s face and returning to Shouyou’s. “And I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you seriously look like shit,” Shouyou points out cheerfully.

Kageyama’s gaze becomes very narrow and very pointed. “Do you want to come down here and say that to my face?”

( _Don’t react, Shouyou… Be the bigger man…_ )

“ _Oh_ , scary. What’re you gonna do? Drool on me?”

(Shit.)

Kageyama makes to get up, his hands balled into fists and his eyes wide and incredulous, but Yachi steps between them.

“Don’t fight!” she begs. “Hinata, what’s the matter with you? Don’t antagonize him, he’s a _victim_ —”

“No, he’s not,” Shouyou says. And then he blinks, turns to Kageyama. “Speaking of which, why are you here? Shouldn’t you have… I dunno… disappeared like _fwoosh_?Like the rest of them?”

Nothing about this conversation justifies how nonchalant Shouyou sounds right now. But he doesn’t know how to handle this – doesn’t know how to deal with it, without humor and bickering. So he does what he always does, when it comes to Kageyama: he buries his feelings. Smothers them.

Kageyama’s scowl deepens. “Why are _you_ here? Don’t tell me you seriously have shitty enough luck to be in Oikawa-san’s line of fire twice.”

Yachi stares.

“Um,” she says. “Sorry. What’s going on? What are you talking about?”

“We met when I was thirteen,” Shouyou explains, gesturing at the _P_ branded onto Kageyama’s collarbone. “He’s one of the pirates.”

“Oh,” Yachi says. And then she screams.

 

Daichi can’t remember the last time he slept.

Thirty hours ago, at least. Maybe thirty-five. He feels _weighted_ , a thousand pounds heavier than he should. Lights keep popping in his eyes, and he’s trying to remember if humans can sleep standing up, and this all sucks a limp dick, honestly. Daichi’s always tried to lead by example. If his squadron sees him pass out, it won’t be good for morale. Plus, he’ll feel royally idiotic.

Shimizu casts him a worried look as she hurries past, arms full of bandages, disappearing back into their makeshift infirmary.

They’ve already lost two people to burn scars and blood loss, their bodies lacerated with wounds that look _wrong_. Too dark. Too indistinct around the edges. Daichi doesn’t know how to describe it.

 _God_ , he’s tired.

There’s too much to think about, too much to process. A perimeter to set up, wreckage to investigate, witness statements to gather. Hinata and Yachi haven’t checked in yet. His uniform feels too tight around his neck, itchy against his skin.

The ocean swims in front of his eyes, a hundred thousand different colors and somehow no color at all, and Daichi remembers the first time he stood on the deck of a ship. And all of a sudden, he is twelve again, a million miles from this wrecked town, lungs full of brine and wind instead of smoke and the smell of gunpowder.

 _Captain_ , a voice says, in his head.

 _I know,_ he snaps back. _I_ know _I’m the captain, goddamn it. I’m still human. I still need some fucking sleep._

 _Captain_ , the voice repeats insistently.

 _Shut up, I_ know—

“ _Captain_.”

Daichi jerks upright, hand flying to the sword at his belt. Tsukishima sighs, places a hand on his hip. His face is stoic, serious, like it always is, but he has heavy half-moon circles under the strange almost-gold of his eyes. The sharp tang of guilt fills Daichi’s mouth.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” he says, not sounding terribly sorry at all. “Shimizu-san wanted to talk to you, but she doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the patients.”

Daichi nods. “You’re not bothering me. Lead the way.” Tsukishima nods, watching Daichi silently for a moment before turning on his heel and walking back towards the medics’ tent.

Tsukishima, Daichi thinks, walks like a soldier. Every single one of his men is more than qualified to protect and defend the kingdom’s seas, but Tsukishima is the only one who acts like it. He carries his uniform, his sword, his title like he has been dragging them all his life. He wears the squadron like armor.

He’s just a kid. Just like the rest of them. Just like _Daichi_. They’re just kids, all of them – kids with swords and ships. Kids ankle-deep in blood and brine.

“After you check in with Shimizu-san, you should take a break,” Tsukishima says flatly. “Use one of the open cots.”

“I can’t do that,” Daichi says, a little more sharply than he intended. And then he adds, in a much more gentle tone, “Thank you for your concern, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue, points to a cot towards the back of the tent. There’s a screen set up around it, but Daichi can see Shimizu working; she moves into his line of sight every so often.

“She’s back there,” Tsukishima says, and then he’s turning to go, heading towards another patient who needs his attention.

“Keep an eye out for Hinata and Yachi, will you?” Daichi calls after him. “If they show up, send them directly to me.”

Tsukishima gives a half-hearted wave that Daichi takes as an affirmation. Daichi watches him reach over and put a gentle, steadying hand on a patient’s shoulder. Pride blooms in his chest for a long, sunlit second. And then he shakes it off, heading back to where Shimizu is.

He knocks gently on the screen and she waves him in. She’s perched on the edge of a chair at the patient’s bedside, a needle in hand, a line of thread between her teeth. The smell of alcohol is almost overwhelming, and Daichi tries not to wince as she ties off the neat line of stitches she was working on, stark against the creamy skin of the patient’s forearm.

Daichi’s gaze traces upwards, across the man’s face, his hair, his body. He feels his eyes widen and his breath catch, which is probably why Shimizu says, soothingly, “He’ll live. There were no serious internal injuries.”

“Oh,” Daichi hears himself say. “R-right. Good.”

Shimizu keeps talking, in that quiet, no-nonsense way of hers.

Daichi focuses on keeping his breathing even.

Her patient is willowy and petal-pale, composed of fine, delicate lines, like a watercolor painter’s brushstrokes. His hair is strange, feathery and light, the color of ash, or maybe fallen snow; it’s crusted with blood, matted down, but Daichi can see that it should be soft. Like sunlight.

Shimizu cut his shirt away to clean the wounds on his torso, and his body is slim and graceful. His lips are pink. There is a beauty mark below his eye.

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the sheer quantity of horrible things he’s seen today. Whatever the reason, Daichi doesn’t catch himself in time to stop the errant thought – _this man is probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life_ – from crossing his mind.

No. He’s supposed to be _through_ with thoughts like this. He’d promised himself he was through.

“Sawamura? Are you listening?”

Daichi’s head snaps up for the second time in less than twenty minutes, and he yanks his gaze away from the patient guiltily. Shimizu is staring at him, expression saturated with serious concern.

“Are you okay, Captain?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” he says, offering her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Long day.”

Shimizu nods. “You need a break,” she says. It isn’t a question.

“I’ll take one when the job is done,” Daichi promises. “Could you repeat what you were telling me before? I zoned out a little.”

Shimizu’s mouth twitches into a frown but she nods anyway, launching into an explanation of all the balms she needs, a list of the herbs she’s short on.

“We’re running dangerously low,” she finishes. “And these people won’t be stable enough to move for another twenty-four hours at best.”

“If we call for reinforcements—”

“It won’t matter. Soldiers can’t battle sickness and injury.”

Daichi groans. “I’ll send Hinata, then,” he begins, because Hinata is the quickest, and because people tend to give in to his pestering easily. Then he remembers that Hinata hasn’t checked in yet, and his head gives a rather unpleasant throb.

“Narita,” he amends. “I’ll send Narita back to King’s City to get supplies.”

Shimizu nods. “Thank you,” she says, the line of her mouth softening; Daichi knows her well enough by now to recognize it as a smile. “You really should get some sleep, Sawamura.”

Daichi sighs, opens his mouth – to give in, maybe, and agree with her. And then there is a heavy, shuddering gasp, coming from between them, and both he and Shimizu jump.

The patient’s eyes are warm and brown and round and deep. He doesn’t seem afraid; he studies Daichi and Shimizu silently for a moment before saying, in a soft voice rough with disuse, “Where am I?”

“The Eastern Port,” Shimizu answers, immediately. “I’m Ensign Shimizu Kiyoko and this is Captain Sawamura. We’re from the Royal Guard.”

“You’re safe now,” Daichi promises.

The man nods. He looks at Daichi like he can see right through him, straight down to his soul. “Thank you,” he says, and it sounds like a sigh.

“Are you feeling any pain?” Shimizu asks.

He shakes his head, and then his lips twist into a grimace. “A bit.”

“Show me where.”

Daichi watches the exchange silently, trying desperately not to stare at the man on the bed. The sandpaper slowly fades from his voice as he talks to Shimizu, and soon he sounds like velvet and summertime and laughter.

“Can you tell me your name?” Shimizu asks.

“Sugawara Koushi,” he answers. “My friends call me Suga.”

There is a distant, faraway quality to his eyes, the way he speaks. Daichi wonders if it’s just because of the accident.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asks, gently, after Shimizu has administered some pain medication.

Sugawara nods. “We were attacked,” he says. “The ship went down…” His eyes go wide, fear crossing his face for the first time since he woke up. “My friend. Do you know if my friend got out okay? Azumane Asahi, he’s big and he’s got long hair but he’s really nervous and tends to stutter…”

Shimizu’s face goes grim. “I’ll check with Tsukishima,” she says, haltingly. “But I don’t think…”

“He’s alive, though,” Sugawara says.

It doesn’t sound like a question.

“There were… casualties. He might not have made it off the ship,” Daichi begins, hating the way the words taste like venom in his mouth.

Sugawara offers him a tiny smile. “I would know,” he assures him. “If he died, that is. I would’ve felt it.”

Shimizu looks skeptical for a moment. And then she says, slowly, like a thought is formulating inside her mind, “May I?” reaching for Sugawara’s hand.

“Sure,” Sugawara says, and they are touching for less than a second before Shimizu drops the contact, jerks backwards.

Where her hand had touched, there is a pattern glowing faintly blue on Sugawara’s skin. The design is rounded, sharp with sudden angles.

Gears, Daichi realizes. Clockwork.

And then, as suddenly as it appeared, it is gone.

Shimizu’s eyebrows have disappeared behind her bangs. “You’re a—”

“Seer,” Sugawara supplies. “Yes.”

Daichi clears his throat. “Oh,” he says, in a strangled voice. “Well, all right, then.”

Sugawara’s fingertips rub absentmindedly across the skin where the pattern had glowed. “I have to find him,” he says. “My friend.”

A Seer, on a quest to save his missing friend.

Christ, this is like something straight out of the pages of a book.

Daichi is way too tired for this.

“We’ll help you find him,” Shimizu says. “But first you need to rest.” She turns to Daichi and adds, “Captain, you should go find Narita and dispatch him now. Otherwise the supplies won’t arrive until well after nightfall.”

“Oh.” Daichi blinks. “Right. Narita. I was… doing that.”

Sugawara’s pretty, pretty mouth twitches up into another pretty, pretty smile.

“Feel better,” Daichi manages, before he flees.

Tsukishima is busy with another patient, treating a patchwork of burns across the victim’s back. He looks up as Daichi passes, but Daichi doesn’t stop walking – he offers Tsukishima a clipped nod before leaving the medic’s tent and the too-sterile smell of antiseptic behind him.

It isn’t until Narita is well on the road back to King’s City and Daichi is alone again that he allows himself to sink to the ground and bury his face in his hands.

A Seer.

A fucking _Seer_.

Just add it to the list of Things Sawamura Daichi _Really_ Did Not Need Today.

 

Kageyama is heavier than he looks.

Even carrying him between them, Shouyou and Yachi have a hard time. It doesn’t help that _Kageyama_ doesn’t help; he keeps trying to pull himself loose, mumbling about how he _doesn’t need any help_ and _can manage on his own_.

Well, he can just fuck right off. It’s not like Shouyou _likes_ this – it’s not like Shouyou _enjoys_ hauling Kageyama’s stupid, muscly ass over half a kilometer down the beach. Shouyou’s body is hyperaware of Kageyama’s next to his, attuned to every move Kageyama makes, every twitch of a muscle, every pained breath that passes through his lips.

Kageyama’s arm is too hot around Shouyou’s shoulders, his breath too close to Shouyou’s cheek. Shouyou’s heart is beating in his throat, too fast, too hard. The feeling is violent, confusing.

How could he possibly _like_ this?

He can’t help but gasp, “Oh, thank God,” when they first spot the pier. And then, when Ennoshita appears around the corner, again: “Oh _,_ thank _God_!”

“Hinata?” Ennoshita shouts. “Yachi-san?”

“Help,” Yachi squeaks.

Ennoshita waves down Kinoshita and the two of them race over, one grabbing Kageyama under his arms and the other by his ankles. He’s too weak by now to protest, the pallor of his face tinged with green. His eyes meet Shouyou’s briefly before Ennoshita and Kinoshita carry him away. And then they flutter shut, and Shouyou and Yachi are alone again.

Shouyou’s body feels weirdly cold.

“Hinata,” Yachi begins.

“Please,” he says. Too quick. Too loud. “Please. I can’t, I… I need to—”

He needs to think. Needs to _process_ this. Needs to try and understand how Kageyama ended up in his life again, after all this time. Needs to reconcile it all inside his mind.

His head hurts.

Yachi catches him when he sways. She helps him to the medical tent, despite the fact that she must be equally as exhausted as he is, and a small bubble of affection blooms in Shouyou’s chest.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

Yachi just nods, her eyes wide, searching his face.

Shimizu hurries towards them as soon as they duck into the medical tent. She checks Shouyou over before pronouncing, “Exhaustion and shock,” and guiding him over to a cot.

Ennoshita and Kinoshita are lying Kageyama down on a cot across the tent. For a single, insane second, Shouyou considers asking to be brought to his side. And then he remembers Kageyama’s an asshole, and the impulse fizzles and dies.

Yachi is saying something to Shimizu in a low, panicky voice. Shimizu’s eyes widen in alarm and her head whips around to look at Kageyama. _No_ , Shouyou wants to say. _No, you don’t understand_. But the words won’t come, and instead he watches as Shimizu races across the tent.

He hears her say something to Ennoshita, but the words are garbled, distorted, like he’s listening through water. He sees Ennoshita’s jaw drop. He watches as they tie Kageyama up, Kinoshita sprinting out of the tent, his mouth working furiously.

 _No_ , Shouyou tries again.

 _No. He’s good_.

 _Kageyama is_ good.

It’s the last thing he thinks before he passes out.

 

Inside Asahi’s mind, it is winter. Snow is falling, but it’s dirty and acrid, tinged with gray, because it isn’t snow, but ash.

He wakes up cold, his body a mess of aches. He’s swaddled in about a thousand blankets but shivers still rake through him, like fingernails along his spine, fresh bandages itching around his arms, his torso, across his left cheek.

“What,” he tries, but his voice fails, shatters in the middle of the word like glass. There is a flurry of movement, somewhere above him, and then the blankets are being pulled away from his face, and he finds himself staring into a pair of eyes that sort of remind him of the gamblers on the docks who toss loaded dice.

Asahi squeaks and tumbles backwards, but he’s being steadied and righted before he can truly fall. The eyes retreat, and he finds himself looking at a boy, probably about his age but smaller, slighter. Made of sharp angles.

“You’re awake!” the kid says, like he’s impressed. “Great! It’s been _hours_.”

“What,” Asahi tries again, and it works better this time. The word still feels misshapen in his mouth, but at least it doesn’t sound like a death march. “What happened? Where am I?”

“I pulled you out of the water!” the boy announces, jabbing a thumb towards his own chest. Asahi is beginning to wonder if he ends all his sentences with exclamation points. “You almost died! Unlucky bastard.” And then he adds, looking a little remorseful, “Oh, right. Sorry about your ship. That fuckin’ blows, man.”

Asahi says, “Um.”

“What’s your name?” the boy asks enthusiastically.

“Azumane,” Asahi manages. “Asahi.”

“Asahi-san!” the boy chirps. And then he grins, and Asahi’s blood runs cold.

 _Danger_ , his instincts scream.

 _Run_.

_This is an enemy you cannot defeat._

“I’m Nishinoya Yuu,” he says, “and it looks like you owe me your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noya, please.


	4. an enemy you cannot defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Something with a capital S.

Usually Shouyou likes that the 61st squadron’s meeting room is cool and dark. It gets ungodly hot in the capital city, with the hills blocking most of the sea breeze that sweeps the rest of the coastline. Even though meetings are Shouyou’s least favorite part of the job, at least they mean he can catch a break from the heat.

Today, though, the darkness just makes him feel like putting his head on the table in front of him and going back to sleep.

Daichi looks fucking awful. Like, lord knows Shouyou’s pretty drained himself, but he’s never seen Daichi looking like such a potent combination of exhausted and homicidal. He’s the only one who has to stand all the way through their meetings, too.

When Shouyou first joined up, he wanted to become a captain. Now? He’s not so sure.

“All right, let’s debrief,” Daichi says, rolling his shoulders back and shaking his legs out, like he’s about to start running (and potentially never stop). “Ennoshita?”

“The damage was relatively contained,” Ennoshita says. “The attack was isolated to that freighter and that freighter alone, which is both a relief and… well, somewhat disconcerting, if I’m being honest.”

“Do we know what they were transporting?” Yachi asks.

Narita nods, consults a scroll of parchment on the table in front of him. “Preserved foods to be sold in markets, mostly. Some clothing. A little bit of ammo. Nothing special.”

Tsukishima frowns. “Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for _nothing special_.”

The table goes silent, worry passing like a shadow over everyone’s faces.

“The locals are sticking to their story,” Ennoshita says, finally. “The pirates came out of nowhere. Out of darkness. They boarded the ship, set it on fire, and then disappeared again.”

Shouyou scowls, presses his fist against the hard grain of the table. There is venom in his veins, the same pulsing rage he felt nine years ago, watching his village burn around him.

“Shimizu? Tsukishima? Update on the victims?” Daichi prompts.

Shimizu’s face goes grim. A muscle jumps in Tsukishima’s jaw.

“Shit,” Ennoshita breathes.

“One survivor made it through the night,” Shimizu reports. Her voice is calm, but her eyes are suspiciously bright. They seek out Yachi almost automatically; some of the tension leaves Shimizu’s shoulders as their gazes meet.

The air feels heavy. Charged.

Shouyou lifts a hand and Daichi nods at him. “What happened to Kageyama?” he asks.

Yachi blanches.

“Kageyama?” Daichi repeats. “The pirate you caught?” Shouyou hesitates before nodding. Daichi smiles at him tiredly. “Don’t worry. He’s been detained. He’s in the North Tower of the palace now, waiting to be tried and convicted.”

Shouyou nods, sits back, breathes. And then Daichi’s sentence processes inside his mind – _the pirate you caught has been detained_ – and he half-screams, “ _What_? He’s been – wait, wha—he’s been _detained_?”

Daichi stares back at him, looking baffled. “Of course.”

And then he’s on his feet, hands balled at his sides, his chair tipping over and falling to the floor with a _crash_. “You don’t understand, Kageyama isn’t _bad_ —”

“Hinata-kun, please,” Shimizu says, her eyebrows lifted in frank astonishment.

“You’re still _recovering_ from _passing out_!” Yachi yelps, standing up to try and push him back into his seat. “Are you crazy? You’ll hurt yourself!”

“I need to see Kageyama,” he says, grabbing Yachi’s arm. His eyes, wide and desperate, connect with Daichi’s. “Please, Captain.”

“Are you crazy?” Yachi repeats weakly.

“I need to see him.”

Daichi looks absolutely stunned; he keeps blinking, like he’s trying to clear fog from his head. “We have a positive I.D. on the pirate, Hinata,” he finally says.

Shouyou resists the urge to throw his hands into the air in exasperation. He doesn’t need to _identify_ Kageyama. He already _knows_ who Kageyama is. He’d know Kageyama anywhere – in darkness, in nightmares, at the end of the world.

“He’s a ninety-eight percent match for the bandit they call ‘King.’ Physical description, mannerisms, vocal patterns. Right down to the color of his eyes.”

Shouyou blinks.

“Wait, what?”

“He’s wanted for upwards of forty crimes against the crown,” Shimizu adds. Shouyou winces; he’d almost forgotten the others were still in the room.

“He’s already put two of the king’s best personal guards in the hospital,” Yachi continues. “He refuses to talk to anyone, and he won’t let Kiyoko-san look at him.”

“He saved my life,” Shouyou says. “When I was thirteen.”

There is a collective, very loud, “ _Huh_?”

Shouyou tells the story quickly – Kageyama finding him, helping him escape the wreckage of his home, disobeying a direct order to bring him and Natsu to safety. He leaves out the dreams, though, and the weird, itchy feeling in his skin he gets when he and Kageyama are together. That seems personal, and he wouldn’t know how to describe it, anyway.

“This is beyond strange,” Kinoshita says, when Shouyou’s finished. “Kageyama ignored his captain, right? He would’ve been exiled immediately, if not executed.”

“That would explain why he’s pirating on land and using the name ‘King,’ now,” Narita points out.

“But how would an exiled former-pirate-slash-current-bandit end up at the site of an attack carried out by his old crew? That doesn’t make sense at all,” Yachi says.

Tsukishima snorts.

“Something to add?” Narita asks him.

Tsukishima shrugs, shifts in his chair. Fixes Shouyou with a stare cold enough to make his skin crawl. “I don’t think any of this matters,” he says. “He’s a pirate, a bandit, and a murderer. Just because Hinata has a my-hero complex and some kind of schoolboy crush on him—”

The room falls silent. Shouyou physically reels back.

Shimizu says, very seriously, “Tsukishima-kun. That’s not something to joke about.”

“I’m not _joking_ ,” Tsukishima says. “Not even remotely. And this conversation isn’t getting us anywhere. Hinata’s pet pirate is in _palace custody_. There isn’t anything we could do about it, even if we wanted to. Which I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, the King can rot in prison.”

“He’s not my pet, you fucking _asshole_ ,” Shouyou growls. “And he’s not—”

“Not what?” Tsukishima snaps back. “Not _bad_? Not like the _other_ pirates? But he’s got the brand on his chest, a half-dozen counts of murder, and your own testimony that says different.”

Yachi says something that sounds like, “Please don’t fight.”

“He saved my life,” Shouyou repeats.

Tsukishima’s lip curls. “So have I, you moron. Ten times over. That doesn’t make me a fucking _hero_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I never—”

“You’re looking for an excuse. You’re always looking for excuses. That’s what you do best, isn’t it? Bury the truth.”

Shouyou sees red. His sword is in his hand and he’s half-ready to launch himself across the table when Daichi bellows, “ _Enough_!”

Shouyou sits down sharply. Tsukishima’s glare returns to the wall.

“Hinata,” Daichi says, quietly. “When our meeting is over, you’re going to be summoned to see the king.”

Shouyou’s stomach plummets to his toes, taking his anger with it. He makes a rather undignified noise that sounds like _ack_.

“They’re going to want a full report,” Daichi continues. “And they’re probably going to want you to interrogate Kageyama. I understand your concerns, now. You’re too close to the prisoner to give an unbiased testimony, and under normal circumstances, I’d take you off the case. But…” Daichi winces. “That’s not going to work this time. For now, when you talk to his majesty, you’ll have to act like you’re strangers.”

No. No, hang on.

The king.

The _king_?

He’s going to be summoned to see _the king_?

“Um,” he says, in a voice that sounds like a wheeze. “Sorry. I think I may literally be dying.”

Yachi leaps to her feet and grabs an almost-empty glass of water from the table, shoving it into his hands. Shouyou swallows fear, sickly sweet and rancid, rising in his throat like bile.

Or maybe he really is just about to be sick.

“It’s okay!” Yachi is saying frantically, her hands fluttering ineffectually. “Take deep breaths—”

 _The king_.

Shouyou’s technically worked for the crown since he was seventeen, but never once has he interacted with the king. He’s seen him from afar, once or twice – from across the courtyard, on the other side of the dining hall. He’s a good king, Shouyou’s heard. Fair but stern. Steady. A little bit ruthless.

All Shouyou knows for sure is that he’s _tall_.

He leans down, puts his head between his knees, and groans. “I hate my job.”

 

The meeting adjourns less than ten minutes later. Daichi and Shouyou stay behind to change into their dress uniforms, which are uncomfortable, tasseled, and maroon, saved for special occasions. Daichi’s face is grim, but he claps a hand to Shouyou’s shoulder and offers him a strained smile anyway.

“You’ll be okay,” he says. “Ready?”

 _Ready_?

Seriously?

Shouyou is literally never going to be ready.

“Yes, sir,” he says (as cheerfully as possible considering the circumstances), doing his very best not to throw up on Daichi’s shoes.

Daichi leads him out of the meeting room, his hands clasped behind his back. They pass Tsukishima on their way out of the barracks. He’s taking the pulse of a light-haired man Shouyou doesn’t recognize. Daichi nods as they pass and the stranger smiles brightly. The back of Daichi’s neck turns a little pink. Shouyou makes a mental note to ask him about it when he doesn’t feel about a second away from passing out.

They leave the infirmary and then the barracks.

(Shouyou wants to leave his body.)

“We’re headed to the palace,” Daichi says. “The king wants to meet with you in the throne room.”

“Swell,” Shouyou squeaks.

The barracks are a lot like a ship. They’re squat and no-nonsense, lined with dark, sturdy wood. There’s nothing _extra_ about them, no ornamentation, and Shouyou’s always been fine with that. It reminds him of home.

The palace is almost exactly the opposite.

Built from marble and glass, the palace glows silver in the sunlight and white-golden in the moon. It’s made of spires, twisting upwards from a curved center like spines off an enormous animal’s back. The building is showy and luminescent and impossible to look away from, in addition to being incredibly, almost _unimaginably_ large. Shouyou remembers Tsukishima dedicated a solid two weeks during basic training to figuring out the floor plan, and the closest he ever came to a conclusion was _it’s big_.

Ensigns are only allowed to enter the palace grounds during special events or with express permission from someone of captain’s rank or higher. Shouyou’s only been inside seven times: when he graduated from basic training and officially became a Guard, for a couple feasts and parties, and once to run guard duty in the North Tower (arguably the worst day of Shouyou’s life).

“When you meet the king,” Daichi begins, as they mount the enormous, gilded staircase leading to the palace doors, “be courteous. He’s a little… odd.”

“Odd,” Shouyou repeats, horrified. Like it wasn’t enough to be _tall_ , the king had to be _odd_ , too?

“Yeah.” Daichi rubs a hand through his hair thoughtfully. “He’s not great with other people. But he’s a good man, generally speaking. You don’t have to worry about him hearing you out.”

“Swell,” Shouyou manages again.

They enter the palace’s cavernous antechamber, which is white and lined with statues and crystal. It seems about sixty times larger than it was last time Shouyou was here, which is absurd, because Shouyou’s actually grown about half a centimeter since then. Which is a lot, by Shouyou’s standards.

A door swings open at the other end of the hall and a man strides through; Shouyou forces himself not to leap out of his skin.

“Captain Sawamura. Ensign Hinata,” he says. “Good morning.”

He’s not that tall, so it’s probably not the king, and Shouyou deflates breathlessly. His hair is light, dyed dark at the tips, and his uniform looks a lot like Daichi and Shouyou’s – neat, buttoned jacket; flat, brimmed hat; black boots that frankly look dangerous. He’s got a couple stars pinned to his lapel, though, and his expression says, very clearly, _I know what I’m doing_.

“Admiral Semi,” Daichi says. “It’s been awhile.”

They shake hands before Semi turns to Shouyou. “Please follow me, Captain, Ensign. The king’s ready to see you.”

The throne room is down a long, marble-lined hallway. Semi’s steps sound like gunfire in the quiet. He walks fast. Shouyou has to run a little to keep up.

Semi knocks on the enormous, gilded door before entering. A deep voice says, “Enter,” and he sweeps the door open and gestures for Daichi and Shouyou to enter.

The throne room is massive and rose-colored. A raised, marble dais sprawls across the far end of the room; an empty throne stands in the center, wrought from gleaming iron and gold. There are guards lining the walls, straight-backed and impassive. One of them, with spikey, reddish hair, smirks at Shouyou as he passes.

There is movement, and then suddenly a door opens on the other side of the throne room, and a man strides in, a sword on his hip and a crown on his head.

“Your highness,” Semi says, sweeping into a low bow.

“You can go,” King Ushijima says. “Shut the door behind you.”

“Of course.”

Daichi nudges Shouyou and they both snap into salutes, though Shouyou stumbles over the movement a little. (He hears the redheaded guard snicker.)

It turns out that King Ushijima _is_ tall. Shouyou doesn’t think that’s what people mean when they talk about his height, though.

It’s his _presence_ , more than anything; it’s powerful, overwhelming. Almost like being near Kageyama, though the feeling is much less familiar and way more uncomfortable. There’s pressure on Shouyou’s temples, a pounding in his head – it’s like his skull is being compressed, and it _hurts_. Everything feels dull and blurry and wrong.

“Your highness,” Daichi begins.

Ushijima waves him off. “You can go,” he says, dismissively. “I don’t need anything from you.”

Shouyou freezes, stunned.

“Of course, your highness,” Daichi says, easily. He looks unsurprised, which just floors Shouyou even more. “Would it be acceptable if I waited for Ensign Hinata in the hall?”

“I don’t particularly care.” Ushijima lifts an eyebrow, and okay. _Okay._ Now, Shouyou is _pissed_. “Dismissed.”

“Yes, sire.”

Daichi nods to Shouyou with something like a warning in his eyes before sweeping out of the room. Shouyou is left standing alone in the middle of the chamber, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He can feel the guards staring at him. Ushijima doesn’t look at him at all.

“I’m assuming, since you haven’t asked why I’m overseeing this case, you either are an idiot or already aware of who this man is,” he says, stepping onto the dais and inspecting his throne like he’s not quite sure he wants to sit down.

“A bit of both,” Shouyou says without thinking.

Ushijima looks at him over his shoulder. “Oh?” he says.

 _I’m going to die_ , Shouyou thinks, miserably. _I’m going to get fucking_ murdered _today_.

“You found him,” Ushijima says.

 _Shit, how had Daichi responded_? “Y—yes, sire.”

“On the beach.”

“I _am_ a member of the naval forces, sire, yes. We deal with beaches pretty often.”

Ushijima looks rather taken aback. The redheaded guard audibly snorts.

“Tell me what happened,” Ushijima says. “Everything.” And he is surrounded by armed guards, so Shouyou does. He talks about the attack on the freighter, its similarity to a case from his childhood. He mentions the reoccurring dreams of the ship’s crew. He doesn’t say anything about Kageyama.

“And how does the bandit king fit into this?” Ushijima prompts, when he’s done. He’s actually looking Shouyou in the eyes, now, and there’s a glimmer of interest there. Like he’s seeing something he hadn’t known to look for before.

“I’m not sure,” Shouyou says, and it’s the truth. He only knows Kageyama. He doesn’t know anything about the King.

Ushijima nods, seemingly satisfied. “I hear you’re adept at getting prisoners to talk, Ensign.”

Shouyou shrugs. “I guess. They’re more likely to talk to me than they are to other people, anyway.”

“Probably because you’re about as intimidating as a twelve-year-old,” the redhead mutters.

Shouyou whips around. “I may be small,” he starts, heatedly, but Ushijima clears his throat and Shouyou’s words curdle on his tongue.

“Tendou,” Ushijima says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tendou drawls. “I know.”

His eyes look predatory, and Shouyou feels out of his depth.

He _hates_ feeling out of his depth.

“You’re going to go speak to the bandit king,” Ushijima continues, his gaze once more on Shouyou. “Before he’s executed. We need information about some goods he stole from one of our outposts up north.”

Shouyou’s blood runs cold. “Executed?” he repeats, his voice cracking through several octaves. “On what charges?”

“Crimes against the crown,” Ushijima says, looking supremely bored. “Murder, larceny, so on and so forth. Nothing you need concern yourself with.” Shouyou just stares at him. He waves a hand. “You’re dismissed, Ensign. Have Captain Sawamura escort you to the North Tower. Report back to me when you’re finished.”

“Wait, you can’t—”

“Those are your orders. Get out of my sight.”

Shouyou drops into a short, sharp bow and spins away, forcing himself not to run for the door. He’s halfway out, just about to allow himself to relax, when Ushijima says, behind him, “And, Ensign.”

Shouyou freezes.

“If I find out you’re working with him, I’ll have my guards leave your body for the crows.”

 

“Hey, I hope this isn’t insensitive, but can you fight, man? You’re pretty big.”

Asahi winces, taking a large, involuntary step away from the kid in front of him – Nishinoya – his _savior_. He’s almost gotten used to Nishinoya’s manner of speaking by now: rapid-fire, sharply inquisitive, full of questions phrased like statements. He’s asked Asahi just about every question under the sun since he woke up.

_Where are you from? What’s your favorite color? Where did you learn to sail? Why were you passed out on the beach? Got any friends? Do you remember what happened to you? Pick a number, one through ten._

“Um. Not… really,” Asahi says, honestly.

It’s not fully a lie. He’s on his feet for the first time in just about forty-eight hours, and he’s never felt _less_ able to fight in his life.

Nishinoya nods, his hands on his hips. “I sorta figured,” he says, and Asahi tries very hard not to be offended by that.

Nishinoya’s apartment is small but open, with what feels like thousands of windows that all overlook the sea. It’s in a building on the Eastern Port’s main street, but things somehow seem… quieter, up here. Which is weird, since there literally isn’t a worse adjective to describe Nishinoya than _quiet._

Well. A pretty strong argument could be made for _slow_.

“Um,” Asahi begins, but Nishinoya is talking again, bounding out of the room and back in again with an armful of fresh bandages. He always talks through everything he does to Asahi’s injuries, probably because the first time he came near him with a needle, Asahi nearly jumped out of his skin.

His touch is always surprisingly careful, too. His hands are calloused, but they’re light on Asahi’s skin.

No one’s ever treated Asahi like he’s _delicate_ before.

It’s weird.

(And nice?)

Mostly weird.

Asahi has no idea what to make of Nishinoya Yuu.

He’s handsome, Asahi thinks, in a small sort of way. He’s all sharp angles and even sharper eyes, which are large and goldeny-brown and intelligent. Like he’s seeing right through Asahi’s skin. He’s dressed simply, in a white shirt and a black vest, and his clothes all sit a little wrong on him. Not like they’re too big or too small, more like they just don’t fit his insides.

He’s got scars, too. Hundreds of them, all over his skin. One thick line across his throat. A hash like tic-tac-toe across the back of his hand. A curve through his left eyebrow. A pull on his bottom lip.

“You’re staring,” he points out, cheerfully, without looking up from redressing Asahi’s wound.

Asahi jumps, flushes. “Can _you_ fight?” he blurts without thinking.

A smile curves Nishinoya’s mouth. It makes the scar on his bottom lip turn white. ( _Danger_ , Asahi’s mind screams for the hundredth time that day.) “What do you think?” he asks, glancing up just long enough to meet Asahi’s eyes.

“You can,” Asahi says.

“What makes you say that?” Nishinoya’s smile is widening. Maybe he’s laughing at Asahi. It wouldn’t be the first time someone laughed at Asahi.

He shrugs uncomfortably. “Your scars, I guess.”

“I must not be very good at fighting, then.” He’s definitely laughing now. It makes his eyes crinkle up at the corners, makes a wrinkle appear on the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe…” Asahi wants to stop talking, but Nishinoya’s gaze is making it very hard. “Maybe you’re very good at starting wars but you’re not very good at finishing them.”

Nishinoya’s shoulders stiffen for a second. He casts a surprised, appraising look at Asahi, both his eyebrows raised. “Hmmm,” he says, thoughtfully. “I wonder.” Asahi doesn’t think he’s talking about himself anymore.

Asahi pulls away, lifting his newly-bandaged arm and rotating it. Decidedly looking anywhere except for Nishinoya’s eyes. “Nishinoya-san—”

He snorts. “Call me Noya. All my friends call me Noya. Well. _Most_ of my friends call me Noya. Some of my friends call me _rotten bastard_.”

Noya.

That suits him, somehow, Asahi thinks.

“Okay,” he says. “Do you live here alone, Noya-san?”

Noya shakes his head. “Nah. A friend of mine and I split rent. He’s on a job right now, but he’ll be back before evening. And before you ask, yes, I’m making you stay another night.”

Asahi winces. “I don’t want to impose—”

Noya waves him off. “It’s nothing, trust me. Actually…” He hesitates, studying Asahi thoughtfully, before saying, “Can I trust you, Asahi-san?”

Asahi blinks. “What?”

He flutters his eyelashes innocently, taking a step towards Asahi. The motion feels like a threat. “Can I trust you with a secret?”

“You saved my life,” Asahi says, honestly. “You can trust me with anything.”

Noya beams. “Great!” he says. “Then, I can tell you that me rescuing you wasn’t just a happy accident.”

“Oh,” Asahi says. And then, “ _What_?”

“The men who attacked you,” he explains, leaning in eagerly. “The ghost crew. They have something of mine, and I want it back.”

“You…” Asahi shakes his head, trying to process. “Wait. You were _trying to find them_ , _then_?”

Noya nods, his grin becoming something jagged and serrated and undeniably deadly. “Uh-huh,” he says. “I’ve been hunting that ship for years.”

Asahi’s jaw drops. “Are you out of your _mind_?” he whispers. “They’re… those guys are…”

(Memories, sudden and violent. Emptied into him like bullets. Darkness and shadow, pain, flames but no fire, a locked door opening from within.

“They don’t have it, Oikawa,” a man with empty, desperate eyes says. “Please.”

“No one ever has it, Iwa-chan,” the captain growls, before putting his sword through Asahi’s chest.)

Noya catches him before he falls, surprisingly easily despite their difference in size. “Easy there,” he says, guiding Asahi gently back to the bed. “You don’t need to try to remember.”

Asahi grabs his wrist. “You can’t fight them and win,” he says.

Noya nods. “I know,” he says, low and scorching. His smile reminds Asahi of a lightning strike. “But I know something you don’t know.”

“What’s that?” Asahi says, in a tone that says clearly, _it doesn’t matter_.

Noya grins.

“What they’re after.”

 

Shouyou puts off going to Kageyama for as long as possible.

He goes back to the barracks, changes into his normal uniform – same color scheme, less frills – eats some dinner, takes a nap. It’s late by the time he finally gets up the courage to leave the bunkroom and head back to the castle.

“It’ll be okay,” Yachi promises him before he goes. “You’ll be fine.”

Shouyou offers her a smile that feels more like a grimace.

The North Tower is dark and dingy, and there’s something about the air that smells too-sweet and curdled, like rotting meat. The guard at the gate waves Shouyou in without bothering to check identification, telling him, “King Ushijima said you’d be here. The pirate’s on the second floor and to the right.” He smirks, tosses Shouyou the keys. “Say hello to his majesty for me.”

For a few long, horrible minutes, Shouyou’s alone with his thoughts and the _clack_ of his boots against the stone floors. And then he’s in front of Kageyama’s cell – this _should_ be Kageyama’s cell, anyway – and it’s empty.

“Fuck,” Shouyou says, under his breath. He shoves the key in the lock with shaking hands, pushing his way into the cell and allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

And then the world spins nauseatingly, and he’s suddenly facing outwards, one of his arms twisted behind his back rather painfully. There is a hand at Shouyou’s throat, fingertips brushing against his Adam’s apple.

“If I had a knife,” Kageyama says, very softly, “you’d be dead.”

And then the shock fades, and Shouyou grabs Kageyama’s wrist and flips him bodily over his shoulder.

Kageyama hits the ground with a wheeze. He hits hard and heavy, and for a second Shouyou feels bad. He’s a prisoner, after all, and recovering. But then he’s up again, so quick and graceful it’s like he was never down in the first place.

Then Shouyou’s annoyed again.

Kageyama’s eyes narrow. His face is dirty, his wounds untreated, his hair a mess, but he still radiates danger and pride. He is trapped, backed against a corner, but he still looks calm and confident and deadly.

Shouyou understands, suddenly. Why they’d call him _king_.

“So,” he says, cheerfully. “I hear you’re a bandit now.”

Kageyama snorts. “Is that what they’re calling me?”

Shouyou nods. “That’s what they’re calling you.”

They stare – maybe glare? – at each other for a long moment, then both open their mouths at the same time. Shouyou’s snaps closed. Kageyama says, “Aren’t you a little young to be in the Royal Guard?”

Shouyou huffs. “I’m _twenty-two_ ,” he says, affronted.

“Really.” Kageyama raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shouyou’s had this conversation once or twice, and most people figure out to back off at this point.

Kageyama says, “You’re _tiny_.”

And then Shouyou is in motion, swinging a punch. Kageyama catches his wrist, twists – Shouyou twists fluidly along with him, pulling his arm free and swinging his leg forward, hooking one of Kageyama’s feet out from under him. Kageyama flips gracefully, naturally, springing off his hands and landing on his feet on the other side of the cell.

They stare at each other warily.

“Again,” Shouyou says.

Kageyama moves towards him, and his fighting style isn’t like anything Shouyou has ever seen before – he fights quick and dirty, with none of the sweeping, waltz-like gestures they teach soldiers in basic training. His blows are quick and hard, and Shouyou takes more than he gives.

But he gives a lot, too.

Kageyama may outclass him, but Shouyou has always been fast.

They fight for what feels like _days_ , Kageyama attacking and Shouyou swinging around him to land blows against his shoulders, his back, his sides. Kageyama is the hardest opponent Shouyou has ever faced, by far – fluid, natural, deadly.

But Shouyou can tell – he can see. The tension in his muscles, the careful twists to his mouth, the look in his eyes. Kageyama’s holding back.

It ends like this; with Shouyou on his back, Kageyama’s knees on either side of his torso, his thighs burning way too hot against Shouyou’s sides, that horrible-beautiful-frightening electricity screaming through Shouyou’s veins. He’s warm against Shouyou’s chest, his fingers even warmer where they pin Shouyou’s wrists to the floor.

“Amazing,” Shouyou says, slowly. And then, “ _Wow_! Amazing, Kageyama! How did you learn to do that?”

Kageyama stares down at him, his eyes wide and confused, his eyebrows pushed together in the middle. _He’s a prisoner_ , Shouyou’s mind points out, rather late. _He could kill you right now, steal the keys, and escape._

Instead, Kageyama stands up, dusts himself off, and extends a silent hand to Shouyou. Shouyou takes it and allows Kageyama to lift him up.

“You’re _amazing_ ,” he enthuses, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“You’re lousy,” Kageyama grumbles.

Shouyou reels back. “Excuse me?” he gasps. “Okay, let’s go again. I’m gonna crush you this time.”

Kageyama throws his hands into the air, looking absolutely baffled. “Why are you _here_ , Hinata?”

Shouyou opens his mouth, probably to ask another question instead of answering. And then he blinks. Closes his mouth. Opens it again.

“You know my name,” he marvels.

Kageyama’s cheeks flush pink. The tips of his ears, too.

“I,” he sputters. “I – well – obviously, I would – it doesn’t _mean_ anything – what – what the hell, you _dumbass_?”

Shouyou steps forward. Kageyama stumbles back.

“Say it again,” he says.

Kageyama wheezes, “ _What_?”

“My name. Say it again!”

“What? Why now?”

“Just do it?”

“Dumbass Hinata,” Kageyama snaps. “Dumbass, dumbass, dumbass Hinata.”

“Well, that’s not very nice, Bakageyama.”

“ _Why the hell are you here_?” Kageyama shouts.

It sounds like he’s pleading.

Shouyou beams, and Kageyama glares at him, his face nearly scarlet now, and for a second, they are thirteen again. They are in those strange, firelit places confined to Shouyou’s dreams, a pirate and a child, pulled together by Shouyou’s bad luck and Kageyama’s bad choices and something else.

Something weird and dark and different.

Something that connects their dreams.

But they’re not thirteen. They’re twenty-two, and Shouyou is here to get information out of Kageyama before he’s executed. They’re twenty-two, and people are dead because of Kageyama’s crew. They’re twenty-two, and Shouyou is stupid.

Shouyou’s always been stupid over Kageyama.

“Okay,” he says, finally. “Look. I’m an Ensign now, with the Royal Guard, and they sent me up here to interrogate you. You’re wanted, apparently. For crimes against the crown. And murder. And putting a palace guard in the infirmary with about a dozen different wounds. Any of this sound familiar to you?”

Kageyama’s mouth twists into a scowl and he nods.

“I know all that,” he says. “But why send you?”

Shouyou pauses. “Because I found you,” he says. “Maybe. Because I’m good at getting people to talk. Because they didn’t think you’d scare me.”

“And do I scare you?” Kageyama asks.

Shouyou looks at him, at his dark eyes and his bruised knuckles and the insistent, angry _p_ emblazoned across his collarbone.

“No,” he decides.

Kageyama’s face alters. Something slips in his expression, something careful and guarded Shouyou hadn’t realized was there until it’s gone.

“You need to tell them you’ll talk,” Shouyou continues, his voice low and urgent. “If you convince them you’re important, they won’t execute you.”

“Talk,” Kageyama says. “About what? About being a bandit? What do they care about that? They know everything they need to know already.”

Shouyou stares. “What? No, no. About being a _pirate_. About where the… the _ghost_ _ship_ is. About where we can find them, how their abilities work, what they _are_.”

Kageyama shakes his head. “I don’t _know_ any of that, though,” he protests. “I haven’t sailed on _Seijoh_ for nine years. Not since—” He stops short, his eyes anywhere but on Shouyou’s face.

“Then why were you at the Eastern Port?” Shouyou demands. “How did you end up in the water?”

“I’ve been following them,” Kageyama says, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Ever since Oikawa-san sent me away. I know what they’re after.” His voice breaks. “I’ve been trying… trying to… minimize…”

“The causalities,” Shouyou realizes. There’s something odd twisting inside his chest. Shock, maybe a little awe. Maybe something else. “You were there to help _save_ people.”

“I pulled someone out of the wreckage,” Kageyama says gruffly, his eyes on the floor at his feet. “He was big, long hair, stubble on his chin. We made it to the beach before—”

“Someone caught you?” Shouyou gasps.

“One of the crew,” Kageyama says. “We fought. He won, left me there. I should’ve died, but I… heard something. Inside my head. A tug, a call, I don’t know. When I woke up, the other guy was gone, and you… you were…”

Shouyou shakes his head.

“Kageyama,” he starts, quietly. “What did you do to me?”

Kageyama stares at him.

“What?”

“When we were thirteen,” he explains, a little louder, a little desperate. “When you saved me. That night, you were… you were _in my head_. And, ever since then, I’ve had… these dreams…”

Kageyama’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown wide, his hands clenched tight. When Shouyou says, “ _Please_ ,” he lunches backwards, shaking his head, his breathing ragged through his lips.

“I can’t,” he says.

“Kageyama—”

“ _I can’t!”_ and his voice is a roar, vibrating inside Shouyou’s veins, boiling inside his blood.

Shouyou stares, wide-eyed.

Kageyama’s eyes don’t meet his.

“Leave me alone,” he says.

“I can’t _do_ that.” Shouyou grits his teeth. “Kageyama, you need to—”

“ _I can’t tell you anything_ ,” he growls. “I can’t… just…” He shakes his head, his face completely closed off.

“Take me to your captain,” he says. “I’ll tell him what… what I can.”

 

Daichi doesn’t know what takes him to Sugawara Koushi’s bedside that night. Insomnia, maybe. His own propensity to putting himself in horrible situations, probably.

Captain Sawamura Daichi was always supposed to be the _together_ one. The _collected_ one. These last few days, he’s been completely undone.

Suga is sleeping when Daichi walks in, bandaged and just as breathlessly beautiful as he was the first time Daichi saw him. Daichi sinks into a chair at his bedside, buries his face in his hands, trying to collect his thoughts.

There’s too much happening. Too much to process. This ghost ship, Hinata’s dark-haired pirate, Daichi’s own promise to Suga to save Azumane Asahi despite the fact that he’s almost definitely already dead.

“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Suga jolts upright, grabs Daichi’s arm. Daichi yelps, almost topples over backwards, but Suga’s grip is biting, strong enough to hold him upright.

“The door,” he says, and his voice is not Suga’s. Daichi doesn’t know _whose_ it is, but it definitely is not Suga’s. “The door opens both ways.”

Behind him, Hinata’s voice yelps, “Jesus Christ,” and another, deeper voice mutters, “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I once again am incapable of not ending this on a cliffhanger.


	5. the awful spirits of the deep (hold their communion there)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explanation and a return.

Shouyou stands in the doorway of the ashy-haired patient’s room, one hand on his sword and the other one clutching Kageyama’s arm. The man on the bed – “The door opens both ways.” – takes a slow, shuddering breath and his eyes fly open wide. Sudden, solid, blue.

“They’re coming,” he says, and then he slumps forward, into Daichi’s arms.

He’s motionless for a long moment before stirring and making a soft moaning noise, reaching up to rub at his head. “God, I hate that,” he says, shifting himself out of Daichi’s arms and into a reluctant sitting position. And then he looks up and his eyes meet Shouyou’s.

“Oh,” he says. And then, his gaze shifting to Kageyama, still half in the room, half in the hall: “ _Oh_. I see.”

Shouyou looks at his captain, but Daichi is out of uniform and completely baffled-looking. He keeps staring from the patient to Shouyou, back and forth.

“Hinata,” he finally says, slowly, like he’s decided on the least painful thing to address first. “That better not be who I think it is.”

Shouyou jumps a little and forcibly hauls Kageyama into the room. Kageyama pulls at his handcuffs and makes a small, frustrated sound that would’ve made Shouyou laugh under literally any other circumstances.

“Captain, this is Kageyama,” he announces, his voice breaking nervously. “He, um. He says he’ll only talk if you’re there. Don’t worry, I got clearance from the crown to bring him.”

Kageyama finally stops trying to yank his arm out of Shouyou’s grasp. He leans forward and whisper-growls, “Who the _hell_ is _that_?” into Shouyou’s ear, gesturing at the patient with chained hands.

The patient waves at them cheerfully, but there’s something slightly pained in his expression.

“ _Hinata_ ,” Kageyama continues fiercely. His breath is warm against Shouyou’s neck. Shouyou’s skin prickles at the proximity.

He shrugs to cover it up and hisses back, “I don’t know,” before turning to Daichi. “Captain. What’s going on?”

Daichi shakes his head, still looking incredibly confused. “I’m… not really… sure, to be honest. This is Sugawara Koushi. Suga is a Seer—”

Shouyou’s jaw drops. “ _Seriously_?” he says, dropping Kageyama’s arm to surge forward and inspect the man on the bed. Suga. The _Seer_.

“That is incredibly cool,” he enthuses. “My name’s Hinata Shouyou, and I’m an ensign in the Royal Guard. Which isn’t as cool as a Seer. Or a captain, honestly. It’s nice to meet you!”

Suga gives another tight, pained-looking smile.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Hinata-kun,” Suga says. “And in person this time.”

Shouyou blinks.

 _In person_?

Behind him, Kageyama makes a low, horrified sound in the back of his throat.

“We’re not staying here,” he says, reaching forward to grab hold of Shouyou’s shoulder. “I’m not dealing with a Seer. No fucking way.”

Suga lifts a single light eyebrow, looking decidedly unsurprised. “Come back, Kageyama-kun,” he says, holding out a hand. “I don’t bite.”

Kageyama reels back. “I said _no_ ,” he snarls. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Wait, hang on,” Shouyou begins, and Kageyama whips around, opens his mouth (probably to shout or say something sarcastic or insult Shouyou’s height, or something.)

Daichi says, “Enough.”

Shouyou deflates immediately, taking a couple steps away from Kageyama. He hadn’t even realized they’d closed the distance between them, standing almost chest-to-chest, until the anger’s drained from his system. Suga sinks back onto his pillows, too, and even Kageyama visibly lowers his defenses.

“Both of you, pull up a chair,” Daichi says, fixing Shouyou and Kageyama with a glare. “I need to know what’s going on with this pirate crew, and I need to know tonight.”

Kageyama hesitates. Shouyou watches him process, watches the confusion and frustration and fear on his face. And then he looks at Shouyou, a question obvious in his eyes.

Shouyou nods.

They both sit down.

“Okay, start from the beginning,” Daichi says as soon as they’re settled. “Who are the pirates? What do they want?”

Kageyama nods, his hands twisting together in his lap, his mouth twisting downwards into a scowl.

“When I was five, a man named Iwaizumi Hajime saved my life,” he says. “He found me on the side of the road. Took me in. Iwaizumi-san was a sailor with a company that specialized in running freelance missions for the crown. More flexible than the Navy, you know.”

Kageyama falters, like he’s expecting someone to tell him to get on with it. When no one does, he gives Shouyou another nervous look before plowing on.

“Iwaizumi-san’s crew was captained by a man named Oikawa Tooru. Oikawa-san was from King’s City. He never told us he was a prince or a king, but we would’ve believed it if he had. He had that kind of way about him. He never talked about his past, though. I think only Iwaizumi-san knew what happened to him. I don’t know. I’ll probably never know.”

Kageyama’s hands close in the hem of his shirt and tug.

“After awhile, we started taking on harder and harder jobs,” he says. His voice is small, somehow. Fragile. It makes something angry rise in Shouyou's chest, and he doesn't know why. “And one day, there was an… accident. We lost people. Innocent people. They died because of us.”

Suga makes a soft, sympathetic sound. Shouyou swallows down shock and horror.

“After that, things… changed. Oikawa-san changed. He blamed himself, I think. For what happened. He wanted to unlock eternal life. He wanted to heal. He wanted to _help_. So we searched for the thing in the stories… the thing they said granted immortality.”

“The fountain of youth,” Suga supplies.

Shouyou stares.

“What?” he gasps. “The fountain… _what_?” And then, when Kageyama’s scowl just deepens, he repeats, “You were looking for the _what_?”

“We found it,” Kageyama says. His hands clench into his fists, his knuckles white. “But it’s like Sugawara-san said. The door opens both ways. We could create immortal beings – people who could never age, never get sick, never die. But, just like they would never die, there are… things. Things that never lived. Things that Oikawa-san… Things _we_ woke up.”

There is a silence, heavy.

Suga says, quietly, “The fountain of youth is intended to blur the boundary between life and death. To create an _inbetween_ , a state of neither-nor. But to do that, you have to weaken the very fabric of space and time. That creates an opening. A chance for other things that are neither to come through.”

Kageyama gives a shaky, slightly nauseated-looking nod, and Shouyou’s stomach twists. “Oikawa-san is trying to close the door he opened,” he explains, miserably. He looks _defeated_ , in that moment. More than in the dreams, when he’s exiled from Oikawa’s crew. More than when he was half-dead on the beach. Defeated.

So Shouyou says, “No offense, but are you guys _idiots_?”

Kageyama’s head snaps up. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“You should’ve known messing with life and death was a bad idea. God, even _I_ could’ve figured that out! I really thought you were _smart_ , Kageyama-kun.”

Kageyama looks livid, and for a second Shouyou is worried it didn’t work, he didn’t take the bait – but, no. The color is returning to Kageyama’s face, the worry and fear and pain draining out of his features.

“You’re one to talk, dumbass,” he snaps, and he sounds normal again.

“So what are we up against, then?” Daichi asks, speaking for the first time since Kageyama’s explanation began, his eyes serious and thoughtful.

Kageyama sighs. “I’m not really sure. When it happened, they had me stay behind on the ship. Humans aren’t supposed to enter the Nether in the first place, so even I’m not quite _right_ , but I’m not like Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san and the rest of our crew.”

Shouyou stares at him, wondering if this _not quite rightness_ is what connects their minds. Wondering if this is why he sees Kageyama’s face in his dreams, in his nightmares, every time he closes his eyes.

“I need something more concrete,” Daichi says, closing his eyes. “A list of abilities. A hideout. A weakness. A motive for attacking ships and towns. _Something_.”

Kageyama shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, and he’s lying.

Shouyou knows he’s lying.

Their eyes meet, and, in that moment, Kageyama looks incredibly small and incredibly frightened.

Shouyou clenches his fists. “So, the bottom line is that we don’t know jack shit about the pirates or the Nether or whatever the fuck else. There’s some sort of undead monster coming out of the water, and Oikawa’s going to keep attacking people. Did I miss anything?”

Suga’s mouth twitches into another one of those small, sad smiles.

“Shit,” Shouyou whispers, and then, again: “ _Shit_.”

 

Asahi sometimes has trouble differentiating what is past and what is present.

There are days where the past will be everywhere, in everything he does, every move he makes. He’ll see the things he’s lost, the things he’s left, in the sunrise, in the wind, in the color of a stranger’s eyes.

Azumane Asahi is twenty-four, but he is also thirteen, meeting strange, faraway Sugawara Koushi for the first time. When he shakes Suga’s hand, a clockwork pattern on Suga’s wrist glows blue, and in that moment Asahi watches the turn of time.

He is also nine, afraid and alone, surrounded by people he doesn’t know on a ship he’s never seen before, palms alight with blisters and open wounds.

He is also sixteen and numb, and he has worked at the shipyards for as long as he can remember. A captain offers him a position on her crew, a chance to leave and explore the world. He is too afraid to take it.

He is fourteen, the taste of another boy’s lips on his mouth, the taste of terror heavy and cloying on his tongue.

He is seven, and his parents are dead.

(He is twenty-four, covered in bandages, with a still-open stab wound in his stomach. And Suga is gone, maybe dead, Asahi doesn’t know, he was never the perceptive one, and now he owes his life to a tiny, frightening firecracker of a man with a smile that makes Asahi’s stomach feel like fire.)

Noya tells Asahi everything. He tells him what he knows about the pirates. He tells him that, because of a failed attempt to create an elixir of life, _Seijoh’s_ crew possesses the ability to turn both themselves and their ship into shadow.

“They’re made of darkness, now,” Noya says, and his eyes are an inferno, a hurricane, a gunshot.

“Christ,” Asahi says, and his voice breaks, and he is so, so ashamed. So, so afraid.

His entire life, he’s only ever been afraid.

“Are you scared?” Noya says, the only one besides Suga who’s ever called him out. There is a dimple in his chin when he smiles, cut through with a long, pale scar.

Asahi nods, because he is. He’s scared of a lot of things. The pirates, the past, and Nishinoya Yuu. To him, the gesture feels worse than a confession. Worse than a scream.

And then Noya says, low and fierce, “Me, too.”

_Impossible._

This small, improbable, jagged-edged, dangerous man cannot possibly be _afraid_.

“It’s okay,” Noya continues, and his hand is on Asahi’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Carefully. “I can be brave enough for both of us, you big softie.”

And there is a feeling in Asahi’s chest like falling off something tall, and Noya’s hand is tethering him, somehow. Anchoring him in place.

 _Run,_ his mind says. For the thousandth time. For the millionth.

_Run, run._

_This is a wound you cannot recover from_.

(This is an enemy you cannot defeat.)

“What do they _want_?” Asahi asks, quietly. “What are they trying to do, attacking ships?”

“What else?” Noya says. “They’re made of darkness, aren’t they?”

He bites out a grin, sudden and disarming.

“So, naturally, they’re looking for the sun.”

 

The Eastern Port is busy, even after nightfall.

Shouyou’s always thought that the city looks like fireflies at nighttime. Like the cosmos, stretched out along the ground instead of the sky. When he first came to King’s City, with Natsu, she grabbed his hand and pointed at the sprawl of the lights.

“Can this be home?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Shouyou said. But part of him had been buried back in their village, below the wreckage of the home they’d shared with their parents once upon a time.

Even now, with Natsu in a boarding school and Shouyou five years into his service with the Guard, he still thinks about that lie, sometimes. He’s thinking about it now, actually, as he heads down to the wharf in search of a ship they can ride into battle against an enemy that cannot die.

 _Can this be home_? Natsu asks, inside his head.

 _Maybe home isn’t a place_ , he thinks. And then, stupidly, he thinks about Kageyama’s eyes.

Shouyou’s always been good at slipping places undetected. That’s maybe the one and only benefit of being small. ( _Small_ , not short. Fuck you.) His uniform is unmistakably that of the Guard, though, so he can feel eyes following him. On his back, burrowing into his skin.

There’s never been a lot of love between the people who frequent shipyards at night and the crown.

Someone leers at him from a doorway and Shouyou lifts his chin and beats back the impulse to stick his tongue out at them. People jostle him, riding the tide of motion in both directions. Vendors shout at him as he passes. Once, a woman grabs his arm, but he shakes her off before she can pick his pocket.

The roar of sound is almost a relief, a break from listening to the roar inside his head.

And now he’s at the docks, staring down the wharf at a bunch of stunning, gracefully-built ships he’ll probably never get to ride, realizing that he doesn’t have a plan of attack. Not even an inkling. No idea of how to go about commissioning a missionary. No idea of how to go about _finding_ one.

In the end, fate helps him out. (Or, maybe not fate, but _something_.)

In a stunning plot twist, Shouyou trips, slams into someone’s shoulder, and falls onto his face.

The guy he hit is on him almost immediately, and Shouyou registers a brutal, angry face, inches away from his own, before the sonic boom hits his ears.

“What do you think you’re doin’, huh? You tryin’ to pick a _fight_? Well, I’ll fuckin’ take you on, I’ll fight who-the-fuck- _ever_ , I’ll fight _you_ , I’ll fight your _mom_ , I don’t give a shit—”

“I’m sorry!” Shouyou half-screams. It’s almost funny; even now, with five years of military training under his belt, his first impulse is still apology. “Sorry, sorry, I’m really sorry!”

The man hesitates, still clinging to Shouyou’s jacket, before his face breaks into a sudden, honest smile and he sits back. He releases Shouyou in one easy motion and Shouyou flops backwards and slams his skull against the pavement.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” the guy says cheerfully.

Shouyou says, “Ow.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to drop you,” he apologizes, sounding genuinely alarmed.

Shouyou sits up, rubbing his head, and squints at the guy. He’s dangerous-looking, honestly. Brutally short hair, scars all over his face, thick cords of ropey muscle on his arms and neck. Shouyou could probably outrun him, but he’s not sure he’s willing to take the chance.

And then the guy’s eyes land on Shouyou’s getup for the first time.

“Aw, shit,” he moans, covering his face with his hand. “You’re a soldier. Dammit. This isn’t worth seventy-five to life, is it? Oh, Jesus, are you gonna execute me? I’m too young to die, man.”

“No, no,” Shouyou squeaks. “No, I’m… not gonna arrest you.”

“Oh, thank God.” He visibly deflates. “My partner would’ve killed me, man. I’m supposed to find us work or he’s not letting me back in the apartment. And he’s already brought in _one_ charity case since I’ve been gone, who _knows_ what he’ll do if I’m out another night.”

“Partner,” Shouyou repeats.

The man grins, crooked and cocky. “My business associate, you might say. We’re freelancers.”

“Freelancers,” Shouyou repeats. “Like… mercenaries?”

The man squints at him. “You sure you’re not gonna arrest me?”

Shouyou nods frantically. “I’m looking for a ship, actually,” he says. “My squadron and I… we’re trying to hunt down these pirates… it’s a bit of a long story, actually, and they’re not really normal pirates, they’re the ones behind the attacks on that merchant’s ship two days ago, I don’t know if you know what I’m talking about—”

“ _Seijoh_ ,” the man says, his eyebrows arching upwards in surprise. “You’re after the ghost ship, little man.”

Shouyou nods and says, automatically, “Don’t call me that.”

“What a coincidence. It just so happens that my partner and I are, too.” The man’s face splits into a grin and he sticks his hand out, grabs Shouyou’s to shake. “My name’s Tanaka,” he says, “and boy have I got the ship for you.”

 

Hajime stands in the darkness at the end of the world. He has forgotten what it felt like to feel.

“It’s happening,” Oikawa’s voice says, behind him. Though the dark and the gloom and the silence.

“What’s happening?” Hajime asks.

“The kingdom’s finally sending their boys out to play with us.” Oikawa laughs, and it’s a sound that drips with blood. A sound that aches with it.

“So what.” Hajime doesn’t care about soldiers. He hasn’t for a long, long time.

“Tobio-chan’s with them,” Oikawa says.

And then they are facing each other. Oikawa’s eyes are flat black, no whites or pupils or irises. Hajime’s shadows are stationary, flat against his skin, but Oikawa’s creep. Always, constantly in perpetual motion. They slide up his skin, up his legs and arms and chest and face. Up the column of his throat, across the soft skin where his pulse used to beat. Over his lips.

He’s hard to look at, sometimes. His _otherness_ tugs at you. Makes you tired. Makes you scared.

Hajime sighs. “He can’t save us, Oikawa.”

Oikawa grins, a horrible, half-moon snarl of a smile.

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” he sighs, and his voice catches like glass in Hajime’s skin. “I know he can’t save us.”

And then he leans closer, lips brushing Hajime’s ear, and whispers, “Nothing can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahh, this chapter is way more expositional than I wanted it to be. But when I kept everything together the way I originally planned, it was shaping up to be absurdly long, so I decided to cut it in half.
> 
> From this point forward, I can get into the good stuff, though, so I'm excited for that! Thanks for sticking with me up until this point!


	6. unquiet are its graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of warships, nightmares, and an awakening.

It’s close to midnight by the time Shouyou steps on board _Karasuno_ for the first time.

Tanaka leads the way to the ship’s spot on the wharf, carrying a lantern that casts more shadows, it seems, than it does light. It’s a little creepy, honestly. The wind that blows off the water is cool and salty-sweet, the smell of low tide. The planks creek under Shouyou’s feet, arrhythmic and strange.

Every once in awhile, pairs of eyes flash out of the darkness along the docks. Usually they’re animal, Shouyou thinks. Sometimes, though, they’re human.

 _Don’t panic_ , Shouyou tells himself fiercely. _Don’t panic, do_ not _panic_ —

Tanaka talks cheerfully the whole walk, about sailing and his partner and how he got the scar that slashes from his left eye to the right side of his mouth. (“And then the thing just rises up out of the water, right, and fuckin’ slashes its goddamn claws right across my fucking face, and then, dude, one of its heads started _spitting fire_. No lie. I have witnesses to confirm.”) His voice is harsh and grating, but weirdly relaxing.

Tanaka’s an easy person to be around. Once you get past the bald head and the scars and the stare that feels like a challenge, there’s something… reliable about him. Honest, or something. Shouyou finds his breathing easing, steadying out.

And then they’re walking up the gangplank onto _Karasuno_ ’s deck, and Shouyou’s nerves melt away completely.

Even in the dark, it’s obvious she’s built for battle. A warship, through and through, all sleek lines and smooth wood. She’s a little bit like Shouyou, in a way: narrow and low and built for speed. The deck rocks slightly under Shouyou’s feet, the sea breeze kicking up and tugging at his hair, and energy bursts to life in Shouyou’s belly.

He’s so awake, right now.

It’s midnight, and he’s never been more awake in his life.

“Amazing,” he says, quietly.

And then he’s bouncing up and down on his toes, physically _vibrating_.

“This is _amazing_!” he repeats, and it’s an ecstatic shout this time. And now he’s running across the deck, shooting from corner to corner at top speed to inspect the helm, the finely-carved door to the captain’s quarters, the mast, the sails.

“She’s _amazing_ ,” he continues as he sprints past Tanaka on his way to begin the climb up to the crow’s nest. “Like, _gwah_! Oh, my God, this is such a great ship, holy shit, oh, my God.”

Tanaka roars with laughter, one hand on his hip, the other lifting the lantern above his head so he can watch Shouyou climb. “You’re pretty good at that, man.”

Shouyou nods enthusiastically and grabs hold of a rope, swinging down from the mast and landing lightly on his feet right in front of Tanaka.

“It feels like flying up there,” he says by way of an explanation, and Tanaka’s eyebrows lift. He nods seriously and thoughtfully.

“I know what you mean,” he says. “I’ve always liked it better when my feet are on something solid, though.”

They stay on board the _Karasuno_ for another fifteen minutes or so, Shouyou pacing back and forth and pleading, “One more minute,” every time Tanaka suggests heading out. The ship feels incredibly natural beneath him. Like he was meant to be here, standing on its decks.

Like this was all predetermined.

Fate’s a big word, Shouyou knows, but he can’t help thinking it now.

Slowly, his heart rate returns to normal. He takes a deep breath and turns his face upwards, following the line of the mast until it scrapes at the sky, blocks out the stars.

“She’s really yours?” Shouyou asks softly, unapologetically awestruck.

Tanaka claps a hand on his shoulder. “She is now! My partner and me, we spent every penny we had on her. Had to sleep on board and pick up odd jobs during the day to start building up savings again. That was… what, six years ago? Seven?”

“That’s so cool,” Shouyou says. He touches the mast again, and the wood is smooth and cool below his palm. “You’re really cool, Tanaka-san!”

Tanaka’s chest puffs out proudly. Shouyou thinks he might say something, but he sobers and quiets as a cloud slides across the sky and blots out the moon. It’s somehow a thousand times darker now, and reality comes rushing back in, like the tide. Shouyou remembers that it’s chilly and midnight and he’s alone on a stranger’s ship.

The haze in his mind clears. The spell breaks.

It’s disconcerting, and it leaves him cold.

Shouyou shudders and turns to Tanaka. Tanaka grins at him, easy and lopsided.

“Let’s head out. I’ll put you up for the night. My partner won’t mind, he’s already running a hospital out of our living room.”

Shouyou nods quickly. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

Tanaka laughs again and slaps him on the shoulder again.

“Absolutely. Follow me.”

On the way back into town, they trade stories. Shouyou tells Tanaka about his time with the navy, and Tanaka tells Shouyou about his years working the docks. He tells Shouyou about his partner – “He’s a good guy, really, but a little… intense. You’ll see!” – and Shouyou talks about his crew. He skirts around the subject of Kageyama as best he can, though.

Talking about Kageyama feels different, somehow. More personal, maybe? Shouyou doesn’t know.

They reach a line of apartment buildings close to the docks, all of their windows glowing golden with light. “This one’s mine,” Tanaka announces, and Shouyou doesn’t miss the note of pride in his voice.

They climb rickety steps and Tanaka unlocks the door to let them inside. The apartment is small – the door opens right into the kitchen-slash-living room, and there are three doors branching off, which Shouyou assumes are bedrooms and a bathroom. Everything is threadbare and rough-hewn, but it looks very lived-in.

Comfortable.

Like a _home_. A real, proper one.

Shouyou finds himself grinning hard enough to hurt.

“Oi, Noya-san! I’m home! And I’ve got good news,” Tanaka shouts, kicking his boots off at the door.

“Sorry for intruding,” Shouyou announces, before removing his own boots and stepping inside.

There’s a quiet rumble, like an earthquake gaining strength, and then one of the doors bursts open and a man launches himself out into the living room with all the feedback and explosive energy of a bomb going off.

“Ryuu! Finally! Took you long enough,” he says, and he has a voice that’s built for announcing, for standing up in front of crowds and _commanding_. Big and authoritative and confident.

He’s small, though.

 _Really_ small.

Spikey-haired and slight-shouldered and _small_.

Shouyou stares.

“Wow,” he realizes. “You’re even shorter than me!”

The man’s head whips around.

“ _Excuse_ me?” he snaps, and Shouyou makes a soft squeaking noise that might’ve been a scream and might’ve been an apology.

“Sorry, sorry! I just – I don’t meet many people who—!”

The man stares at him for another brief moment before bursting into raucous, uproarious laughter.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s usually the first thing people notice. I’m used to it!” He crosses the room and sticks his hand out for Shouyou to shake. “My name’s Nishinoya Yuu, but you can call me Noya! I’m assuming you’re our new gig, then?” His eyes skirt across Shouyou’s uniform before returning to his face. “The Royal Guard, huh? Very official.”

Shouyou nods enthusiastically. “I’m Ensign Hinata Shouyou. Tanaka-san told me you guys could help provide a ship for us to hunt down the ghost ship _Seijoh_.”

Noya’s eyes widen.

“Jesus. Yeah, man, I’d say we can,” he says, and then he turns his head and shouts, “Hey, Asahi-san! Wake up! I think you’ll want to hear this!” in the general direction of the bedroom. There’s no response, so he sighs and assures them, “I’ll be right back,” before sprinting back in and letting the door swing shut behind him.

Shouyou blinks.

“Who’s Asahi-san?”

Tanaka groans. “Noya’s charity case. He found the guy on the beach after the last attack, decided to take him in. Nurse him back to health and whatnot. It’s been wild. I think Noya’s shaved three years off the guy’s life already.”

 _I pulled someone out of the wreckage_ , Kageyama’s voice says, quietly, inside Shouyou’s head. _He was big, long hair, stubble on his chin._

The bedroom door swings open, and the only other man Kageyama Tobio has managed to save from Captain Oikawa Tooru emerges. He really is big, all broad shoulders and bulging biceps and steady, deep brown eyes. Noya supports him easily though, with one arm around his waist and the other on his shoulder. He’s talking to the guy cheerfully, too, without a hint of trepidation.

“Asahi-san, this is Hinata Shouyou!” Noya says, lowering Asahi to the couch. “Shouyou’s with the Guard. They’re looking for _Seijoh_!”

Asahi nods, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes are large and brown and very, very watchful. It’s like he’s expecting Shouyou to attack at any minute. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he says.

Shouyou makes a noise that sounds like a cat whose tail’s just been stepped on. “ _Sir_? N—no, I’m just… I’m just an ensign, you can call me whatever you want—”

Surprise crosses Asahi’s face. “All right,” he says. “Nice to meet you, then, Hinata-san.”

Well, that _was_ better. Right?

(It didn’t really feel that much better.)

“Why is the Guard suddenly taking an interest in this case, anyway?” Tanaka asks, pulling a chair away from the spindly kitchen table and sitting on it backwards. He crosses his arms over the back and rests his chin on top. “They’ve never shown any inclination of wanting to bother with weird shit before.”

Noya nods in confirmation. “True, true! Ushiwaka’s always tried to stay away from anything remotely paranormal. I’ve heard he had some sort of traumatic experience as a kid, or something.”

Shouyou hesitates, considers. How much did Daichi want him to tell these people? Maybe they’re supposed to stay entirely in the dark until Daichi can come and debrief them himself? He can’t remember his instructions.

“It’s a long story,” Shouyou finally settles on.

“We’ve got a long time!” Noya chips, sinking down on the couch next to Asahi.

Shouyou winces. His eyes meet Asahi’s.

“You found Suga, didn’t you?” Asahi says, quietly. “Sugawara Koushi? You found him. He told you.”

 _The door opens both ways_.

Something inside his mind _clicks_. Like when he saw Kageyama on the beach. Like when he walked into Sugawara’s room. Like on the day of his inauguration into the Royal Guard. Like the night his village burned to the ground.

“Okay,” he decides, bouncing up and down on his toes, trying to shake the nerves away. “I’m gonna try to explain the best I can, but I’m not awesome with words and I’m sort of really confused about a lot of this, so… um… I guess just stop me? If you get confused.”

Three heads bob in assent. Three pairs of eyes follow Shouyou as he moves.

“When I was thirteen, my village was attacked by pirates. But they weren’t pirates – not really, anyway. They were different. Really different. Like they were… I don’t know. Made out of nighttime.”

Shouyou talks for what feels like hours. He goes through the attack, tries to explain his weird mental connection with Kageyama as best he can. He talks about joining the Guard, about what it felt like to sail for the first time (amazing, euphoric, better than anything he’s ever felt in his life). he talks about the recent attack on the Port, how he found himself face-to-face with Kageyama outside of a dream, for the first time since he was a kid. He talks about understanding the dangers for the first time, about Suga’s words – “The door opens both ways.” He talks until his voice is dry and sore and cracking.

When he’s done, Noya and Tanaka exchange Looks-with-a-captial-L.

“Huh,” Noya says. “Weird. So this kid Kageyama and you share dreams? Is it always of the past, or do you ever dream the—?”

“All right,” Tanaka says. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Shouyou stares. “I… wait, what? What were you going to ask?”

Noya shakes his head and smiles cheerfully. “No worries, it can wait until the morning! I’ll grab you a futon, Shouyou. You can sleep on the floor. Asahi-san’s already using the couch.”

Shouyou nods. The idea that they’re holding something back on him is incredibly annoying, but he’s beginning to realize just how tired he is – too tired to explain what it feels like to have Kageyama in his head.

Noya sets up the futon and Shouyou crashes onto it. He’s asleep within seconds, heavy and instantaneous. The last thing he hears is Asahi saying softly, “He’s just a _kid_ , Nishinoya. I know you want to end this, but… I don’t know. I just… You shouldn’t drag him into this.”

“We’re not dragging him, Asahi-san,” Noya replies cheerfully. “That kid’s ankle-deep in this shit already. We’re just wading in to join him.”

 

Tadashi never intended to die on a pirate ship. Like pretty much everything else in his life, it just sort of… happened.

 _Nekoma_ was never supposed to be his future. Tadashi’s a musician’s kid; he was supposed to take over the family trade, teach the children of noblemen to play piano. He was supposed to stare out the window of his father’s manor and watch his life slip away from him.

He was supposed to nod politely and do his duty when his father passed away. He was sixteen, and frightened, and he was supposed to pretend that he wasn’t.

He was never supposed to run away.

But he did, and that’s why he’s currently dangling off the side of a state-of-the-art warship, about four arms’ lengths away from touching the water. Funny that a pianist’s son would end up like this: with a rope tied around his waist, a hammer clasped in the hand that’s not clinging to the ship, and a handful of nails held between his teeth.

The wind whips around him, picking up every so often. It’s more than enough to put Tadashi on his guard. He’s been at sea long enough to know that wind makes even shallow water unfamiliar and strange.

Plus, it’s a pain in the ass to keep shaking his hair out of his face only to have it blown right back. He can gather most of his hair into a ponytail at the back of his neck, but the fringe around his face isn’t long enough to reach yet.

The ship rocks slightly under a larger wave, and Tadashi beats back the impulse to wince. Even now, after all this time, the ocean feels… dangerous, to him, sometimes. Unnatural. Like an adversary, someone Tadashi needs to defeat.

Something about spending so much time at sea makes you forget what land feels like under your feet.

(“Tell me, Freckles. Do you love the ocean?” Captain Kuroo Tetsurou had asked six years ago, on the day Inuoka had brought Tadashi to meet the crew.

“Not particularly,” Tadashi blurted honestly, and he remembers, now, how small he felt in that moment. With this crimson-clad captain standing in front of him, hands on his hips and a hazardous sort of grin on his mouth.

“Good,” Captain Kuroo said. “She claims the people who love her first. Don’t love the sea, kiddo. Respect her. Fear her. But don’t love her.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, Captain,” Inuoka said.

Kuroo winked at Tadashi. And then he stuck out his hand.

“Welcome aboard.”)

 _Nekoma_ is built to be a pirate ship, in the same way Kuroo Tetsurou is built to be a captain. They are both of them vessels made for combat, efficient and clever and quick. Where the ship’s no-nonsense and undramatic, though, Kuroo is witty and flamboyant and luminescent.

He used to scare Tadashi, a little.

Sometimes he still does.

Another good-sized wave crashes against the hull, and Tadashi slams in the last of the nails quickly, not really paying attention to where they’re landing. When he checks the board he was repairing, though, it doesn’t give even a little under his fingers, so he figures it’s fine. No one ever said the job had to be pretty.

He gives a quick series of tugs on the rope and, above him, Inuoka starts to haul him back onto the deck. He takes another quick look at the water, frothing below his feet, before lifting his chin and watching the railings of the deck approach, instead.

“How’d it go?” Inuoka asks him, when they’re close enough to speak.

“Fine,” Tadashi says, chancing another glance downwards. “I think the board should hold.”

Inuoka grins. He’s got an open, easy sort of smile. It’s one of the reasons Tadashi let him drag him onto the deck of a pirate ship in the first place.

“Good work—”

Someone shouts on the other side of the deck. Inuoka’s smile fades. He checks to make sure Tadashi’s in a position where he can pull himself up onto the deck before turning and yelling back, “What’s going on?”

There’s a full-blown uproar by the time Tadashi can see what’s going on; he lifts himself up over the railing and back onto the main deck in time to watch Inuoka hurrying over to _Nekoma_ ’s port side, where Lev is pointing something out to Yamamoto and First Mate Kai. Lev looks weirdly serious, his face drawn and paler than usual.

Inuoka takes one look over the side of the ship before turning around and sprinting towards the captain’s quarters.

“What’s going on?” Tadashi calls, and Lev turns towards him, eyes wide and wild.

“You guys have got to see this,” he says, and Tadashi drops his tools and crosses the deck, trying to wipe the grime and grease off his fingers and onto his pants.

Yaku jumps down from the helm and joins him at Lev’s side. “This better be good,” he grumbles. “Yesterday you called me over because you thought you saw a dolphin.”

“It did look like a dolphin,” Tadashi says, reasonably.

Yaku glares at him. “Not you, too. It was a piece of driftwood.”

Lev bounces a little on his toes and nudges Yaku with his elbow. “ _Look_.”

Tadashi leans over the railing and stares directly into frothing water for the second time in less than five minutes. Only, this time, the water’s… off. Sort of opaque and shiny.

“Back there,” Lev says, pointing towards a spot about two ship lengths away from the hull. His voice is quiet, half horrified and half reverent.

Tadashi lifts his chin, follows the line of Lev’s finger.

The water is pitch black.

Tadashi makes a startled, strangled sound in his throat. At his side, Yaku goes perfectly still.

Footsteps pound the deck behind him, and then Kuroo’s hand is on Tadashi’s shoulder, guiding him away from the railing. Kenma’s there seconds later, eyes tracing the patch of darkness, sharp and watchful.

“There’s something floating in it,” Lev says.

He’s right. Lots of somethings, actually.

Fish. Rising to the surface. Turning over, dead. One by one by one by one.

“Holy shit,” Yamamoto says.

Lev whispers, “Captain?”

Kuroo shakes his head, pushes his hands through his hair roughly. “I don’t know. Fuck. I have no fucking _idea_.”

Tadashi can smell it now. Too sweet and cloying, sticking to the back of his throat. Like rotting fruit.

Death.

“Kenma,” Kuroo says. “What the hell do you think that is?”

“There’s something else, too,” Kenma says, his voice just as flat and steady as always. “Can you feel it?”

Tadashi bites back a whimper as they all fall silent. For a second there’s nothing odd – the whisper of waves and the distant cry of gulls and _Nekoma_ rocking slowly, gently.

And then he _can_ feel it. A rumble. A vibration. Infinitesimally faint, but growing.

“An earthquake?” he whispers.

Kenma shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It’s too constant.”

“Lovely,” Kuroo growls. “Yaku, get us the hell out of here.”

Yaku’s in motion before he finishes his sentence, vaulting himself up and over the stairs and to the helm. “Changing course,” he announces calmly. “Lev, I need you to raise the sails.”

“Yaku-san, I—”

“Do it _now_ , Lev.”

The rumbling is stronger, now. Starkly noticeable, even over the gentle rocking of the ship. Tadashi hurries forward to help Lev adjust the knots that hold the sails in place, using the ropes to hoist them up and open. The rest of the crew burst into motion, too, taking their positions with practiced ease.

“There’s no wind,” Inuoka observes wonderingly from his place halfway up the shroud.

“No way,” Tadashi says. “No, that’s literally impossible. When I was doing repairs, the wind almost blew me out to sea.”

“Well, there’s none now,” Lev says. “Yaku-san, what—”

“Raise them anyway,” Yaku instructs. There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw. “We need to—”

 _Nekoma_ lurches.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Yamamoto demands.

Like an answer, the ship tips again, lifting up and away from the waves with an enormous, wooden groan. It’s like being caught in a storm, but there aren’t any waves – there’s literally nothing at all that could be causing this, unless there’s something…

“Below the ship,” Tadashi realizes, just as Kenma says the exact same thing. Kenma’s eyes land on him for less than a second before darting back to Kuroo.

“Captain?” Kai prompts.

Kuroo says, “Arm yourselves.”

The ship groans.

It’s like a nightmare. Like every horrible thing Tadashi’s ever imagined, come to life. There’s something audibly scraping against the hull of the ship, something heavy and insistent. _Nekoma_ keeps rocking. Tadashi’s sword feels flimsy and useless in his hand.

 _I used to be scared, too_ , Inuoka had told him, when he joined up. _Like you._ _I was scared of everything, all the time. But with_ Nekoma _, I don’t have to be._

This, Tadashi realizes, is the first time he’s been really, truly, properly frightened in a long, long time.

There’s a sound like screeching metal, and for a second Tadashi is convinced that the ship is being rent apart, torn in two. But then he realizes it’s a scream, the roar of an enormous beast that none of them can see because it’s _below their goddamn feet_.

“Holy shit,” Kuroo says, sounding almost impressed.

And then the ocean explodes.

Tadashi dives away from the mast and rolls to his feet on the deck, ducking his head and pressing his mouth shut as what feels like a thousand pounds of seawater is dashed on top of him. The _thing_ – whatever it is – screeches again, loudly enough to make glass hum and Tadashi’s ears ring.

It’s louder this time because it’s surfaced.

“Oh, my fucking _God_ ,” he hears Yamamoto say, but the sound is liquid, drowned. Like he’s listening from below the waves already.

Tadashi’s fingers tighten on his sword and he looks upwards slowly.

The monster is, in that moment, undoubtedly the largest thing Tadashi has ever seen. It’s huge and serpentine, with enormous eyes that burn flat black, with no whites or irises or pupils. Its skin is mottled, black and gray and that pale, pale color of the sky just after dawn. Its tail is wrapped around _Nekoma_ twice, constricting slowly to the tune of several tones of splintering wood. There are enormous wings forking out of its back, skeletal and bare, like branches on a long-dead tree. They beat against the air ineffectually; Tadashi’s hair blows back violently.

This is not real, Tadashi thinks.

It literally cannot be real.

It’s fading in and out of his vision, sometimes there, sometimes not, sometimes a strange in-between, like a living shadow.

The monster screams again, but the sound is much quieter. Far away.

No, no, no, no, no. Now is a _terrible_ time to have an attack. Really just exceptionally terrible.

 _Keep it together_ , he thinks. _Breathe_.

The air smells like smoke.

Next to him, he hears Yamamoto roar and grab hold of a rope, hauling himself up the mizzenmast with one arm and waving his sword with the other. The monster’s eyes land on him, an expression close to skeptical crossing its snake-like face.

There’s a _boom_ , and Tadashi turns in time to see one of the cannons rocking back, Kai and Fukunaga holding it in place as a cannonball launches up and out, striking the monster in the heart.

Kai shouts, “ _Yes_!” but Fukuaga’s fingers close on his sleeve and he shakes his head sharply. The whole ship quiets to watch the cannonball sink into the thing’s skin like it was made from gelatin. It moves painfully gradually, falling in slow motion, until it bursts out the monster’s back and careens into the water.

“What the fuck was that?” Yamamoto demands. “What the _fuck_ just happened?”

Tadashi forces himself to stand and walks on shaking legs over to where the monster’s tail wraps around the bow. He reaches out, his fingers trembling, and tries to touch, but his hand passes right through. It’s like sticking his hand into cold water, viscous and odd, a different consistency than air but far from being solid.

“It’s not tangible,” Tadashi realizes. And then he repeats it, louder, so the others can hear him: “It’s not _tangible_. I think it’s made of shadow!”

“It’s tangible enough to sink our ship,” Yamamoto points out, borderline frantically, trying to stab his sword into the monster’s gullet and almost falling off the mast.

“Its face,” Kenma says.

“What _about_ its face?” Yamamoto demands, frantically.

“Aim for its face,” Kenma says. “Kuro—”

“Look at its skin,” Kuroo says, sharp and surprised, like he’s just now realizing it, too. “It’s darker. Thicker. You can’t see through it. It looks like it’s solid there. If we aim for the face—”

“We can take it out,” Kai supplies.

Kuroo’s mouth splits into a grin.

“Yamamoto and I will distract it. Kai, Fukunaga… Don’t miss.”

They burst into motion, Kuroo hauling himself up to join Yamamoto and the both of them landing blows on its neck. It trashes its head, not hurt so much as visibly annoyed, and turns its enormous, empty eyes on Kuroo. That screech pierces the air again and Tadashi doubles over, a half-sob escaping his lips.

“Breathe, Yamaguchi,” Yaku says from between his teeth, straining against the pull of the wheel. “It’s all right. You’re all right. Work through it.”

Tadashi takes a deep, shuddering breath. It burns his lungs going down, like swallowing flame.

Kai shouts, “Ready!”

Kuroo screams down from the mast, “Then take the shot, damn it!”

The cannon booms.

Tadashi sees the rest in slow motion.

The point of contact. The split-second of shock in the monster’s eyes before they turn blank. The way it wavers, wilts, crashes back into the ocean. The wave of water that follows. The way it sweeps across the deck.

The way Kenma goes under.

The way the wave retreats, and Kenma is gone.

“ _No_ ,” Tadashi says, and he is moving before he fully understands what he’s doing, flinging himself over the side of the ship and into the water without a second thought. He catches a glimpse of red and launches himself furiously towards it, praying to God the color belongs to the crimson of their uniforms and not something else.

His hand closes around Kenma’s arm and he pulls, _hard_. Kenma surfaces, his eyes pressed closed.

“No,” Tadashi says again, reaching out to grab Kenma’s face between his hands. “No, no, Kenma, _please_ —”

Nothing.

Nothing but silence and stillness and the absence of breath.

 _He’s dead_ , Tadashi’s mind informs him.

No.

No.

 _No_.

And then Kenma wheezes, gasping for air, choking out water and brine. His eyes fly open and he jerks in Tadashi’s arms, his shoulders convulsing. Tadashi takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force his heart rate to normalize.

“Okay?” he asks, and Kenma nods haltingly.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Tadashi shakes his head. “It was—”

“It wasn’t.” Tadashi stares. Kenma elaborates: “It wasn’t nothing, Tadashi.”

They swim back to the ship, and grab hold of the ladder Kuroo sends down to them. Tadashi makes Kenma climb up first, just in case he’s still shaky from the seawater. He collapses onto the deck and Kuroo’s at his side immediately, face serious, asking lowly if he’s okay and where it hurts and can he talk and can he see.

“That was so brave,” Inuoka enthuses, hurrying over to help Tadashi up and over the railing. “You’re amazing, Yamaguchi—”

Something closes around Tadashi’s ankle.

A tail, maybe.

A hand.

Inuoka’s eyes blow wide and he lunges forward, grabbing frantically for Tadashi’s arm…

Tadashi hits the water. Darkness closes over his head.

 

In his dream, Shouyou is underwater.

It’s not normal water, though. It’s too black, too thick. Shadows dance across Shouyou’s skin, flickering dark across his vision. And the current is calm, but there’s still something… turbulent. Bumpy. Twitchy.

An electrical current?

An earthquake?

Are there earthquakes under the sea?

There’s a boy in front of him sinking down through the water. He’s about Shouyou’s age, with longish hair and warm brown skin and hundreds upon hundreds of freckles. His eyes are closed, and for a moment, Shouyou thinks he’s dead. But then he notices the rise and fall of his chest, steady and even, like he’s sleeping.

Is he _breathing_?

Shouyou swims over to the boy. He tries to poke his chest, but his fingers pass through, like the boy’s made of nothing more substantial than light and the water itself.

Maybe he’s dreaming, too?

This is beyond weird.

Shouyou peers downwards, towards the ocean floor. There’s nothing below him – an abyss, murky and dark and very, very shadowy. He thinks he sees something ripple in the water. A flaw. A shimmer.

A pair of eyes, flat and black and hungry.

The freckled boy’s eyes fly open.

Shouyou blinks, and the ocean fades away.

He opens his eyes in a low, dimly lit room, with windowless walls paneled with dark wood. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor facing Kageyama, who is slumped with his back against the wall and his head tipped up towards the ceiling, his eyes pressed closed. He’s not sleeping, though.

Shouyou can see his hands shaking.

“Oi,” Shouyou says, and Kageyama’s head snaps up. He looks a little frenzied, a little sleep-deprived, a lot scared.

Shouyou looks him over, the lines of him, his shoulders and his scars and the shadows below his eyes.

“Hinata,” he says, and it almost sounds like relief in his voice. But it’s Kageyama, and he’s never, ever looked at Shouyou with relief before. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure, to be completely honest. I was just drowning a second ago.” Shouyou takes another look around the room. “Where are we?”

“The barracks. They’re using an empty storage room as a temporary hold for me… Hang on, did you just say you were _drowning_?”

“It was a dream,” Shouyou assures him. “There was another boy with me, though, and I’m not sure if it was a dream for _him_.”

Kageyama’s mouth turns downward. He’s got a really pretty mouth, Shouyou thinks. It’s a little unfair.

“I never understand what you’re talking about,” he mutters, looking put out.

“That’s fine, I never know what I’m talking about either.” Shouyou smiles and pats Kageyama on the knee cheerfully. There’s a small point of relief that blossoms in his stomach when the contact is normal, solid.

Real.

Not like the boy in the waves.

Kageyama stares him down until he pulls his hand away. “You mentioned yesterday… that you’d dreamed of me.”

Shouyou tilts his head. “Yeah?”

Kageyama shifts in his seat, glaring down at his hands, folded in his lap. “Did that happen… often?”

“Sure. Every night, until I met you again.”

Kageyama’s shoulders tense, and Shouyou forces himself to swallow approximately a million questions that all rise at once. Things like _did you dream of me_? and _how much of this is actually real_? and _are you just a person I’ve created inside my mind_?

“I really don’t understand you at all. At least _pretend_ to be a little embarrassed,” Kageyama finally grumbles.

“Why?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing to tell a guy you’ve dreamed about him for the last ten years, dumbass!”

“It’s only the truth, Kageyama-kun. I didn’t realize you were so _sensitive_ —”

“Shouldn’t you be out looking for a ship, or something?” Kageyama snaps, and Shouyou finds himself grinning a little. It’s stupid, but he feels like he’s won some sort of victory.

“I already found one.” Shouyou beams, bouncing up and down a little where he sits. “She’s _amazing_ , Kageyama, wait until you see her.”

Kageyama’s mouth twitches, maybe in annoyance, maybe in something softer, kinder.

“How are you so _enthusiastic_ all the time?”

Shouyou holds his hands open. “It’s a gift.”

Kageyama finally lifts his head back up. Their eyes lock, and Shouyou’s stomach twists a little – his face is too pale, the bruises under his eyes purpling and dark, something tremulous in his eyes.

“You look awful, Kageyama-kun.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Shouyou holds the eye contact, draws it out like a physical touch. “Are you really afraid?”

Kageyama’s face flushes immediately and he rears back, looking a little insulted and a little horrified. “Maybe I am. So what?” he snaps back. “It’s perfectly natural to be afraid in this situation, moron. Are you telling me you’re _not_ afraid?”

Shouyou sticks his tongue out at him. “Of course I’m afraid, I’m not an _idiot_.”

“But you expected me to be?” Kageyama asks, high and baffled. “Are you calling me an idiot, idiot?”

Shouyou sniggers. “You said it, not me.”

Kageyama glares at him for a second, and Shouyou tenses, ready to get up and run for his life. But then Kageyama’s shoulders slump and the breath pushes out of his lungs, long and slow. He tilts his head back again, addresses his next words towards the ceiling.

“I’m no match for Oikawa-san,” he says. “I probably never will be.”

“Duh,” Shouyou says. “He’s a half-immortal demon… thing. You’re the king, and… and he’s the _grand_ king! It’s only logical, Kageyama-kun.”

Kageyama shoots him another dirty look, but Shouyou thinks he mostly seems tired. “That’s not what I _meant_ ,” Kageyama snaps. “Even back when we were both human – he’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. If we fight them, people will die.” Kageyama’s gaze lands on Shouyou. Stormy. Steady. “You might die.”

“I know that,” Shouyou says. “I’m not stupid. But if we don’t fight them, _other_ people will die, right? They won’t stop until they find what they’re looking for, that’s what you said. So why is _that_ any better?”

For a long time, Kageyama just looks at him, and Shouyou looks back. Kageyama’s eyes are a million different colors. Indigo and lapis and midnight. Flint and the quiet color of the sky before sunrise.

“Back when we were kids,” Kageyama finally says, firmly, spots of color blossoming high across his cheeks, “I decided I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Shouyou nods. “Okay. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Kageyama shrugs, a little helplessly. “Because I dreamed you, and then you were real. Because you reminded me of the sun.”

“Kageyama.”

“What?”

“Is this real?”

Their eyes meet for half a second. Kageyama’s hands close into fists on his lap. He drops his gaze first.

“I don’t know,” he says. And then, in a rush, without meeting Shouyou’s eyes: “Do you want it to be?”

Shouyou wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this I see? A PLOT????
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you for your support and patience with me so far. I'm absurdly busy right now so I don't know if I'll be able to reply to comments like I wish I could, but please know that every word is an enormous inspiration.


	7. the ocean has its silent caves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one ship embarks, another makes its way toward shallow waters, and another burns.

The boy from the Guard moves in his sleep like he’s running from something.

Asahi hugs his knees to his chest and watches him. He watches for seconds, or minutes, or days. He watches the way the Ensign’s face twitches, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones, something akin to fear jolting across his rounded features – until, suddenly, the fear melts, replaced by something close to relief.

His nightmare must’ve passed. Changed into something lighter.

Asahi sighs, tries to force his shoulders to relax.

Superficially, Asahi thinks the kid is a lot like Noya; small and slight, but unmistakably dangerous despite his size. They’ve got a similar gravitas, too, something that grabs Asahi by the throat and screams, _look at me_. Maybe the kid’s just determined, Asahi doesn’t know. There’s a light in his eyes that sets Asahi’s hair on end.

It’s hard to sleep with his presence in the room. Like trying to close his eyes under the glow of a lamp.

He gets to his feet a little before dawn, shaking out his limbs and trying to ignore the way they still smart from his wounds. Moving is getting a lot easier, but the gash on his chest is particularly painful. It’s a little bit black around the edges, too, which is making him nervous.

Asahi isn’t a medic, but he _is_ pretty sure that blackened wounds don’t exactly bode well for their bearer.

Trying to step lightly to avoid waking Hinata, Asahi crosses the room and slips out onto the balcony. The ocean stretches out in front of him, glittering gray under the pale pre-dawn glow. The waves whisper in Asahi’s ear, tug at his hand.

 _No_ , he wants to reply. _No. I can’t go back to you._

Without the water, without the deck of a ship beneath his feet, Asahi isn’t sure what he is.

 _Alive_ , Asahi’s mind supplies.

 _You’re_ alive _. And if you stay out of this mess, you’ll stay that way_.

His wounds aren’t near healed, but they _are_ much better. If he leaves today, he could probably find work inland – maybe if he heads towards King’s City, he could see an actual, proper physician before searching for a temporary job. And then he can…

What? Return to the shipyards?

Does Asahi _want_ to return to the shipyards?

 _Not without Suga_ , Asahi’s mind responds, firmly.

A seabird calls above his head. The waves pound the shore below him.

“Asahi-san,” a voice says in his ear.

Asahi jumps, yelping a little before he can help himself. Noya drops down from his tiptoes easily, unfazed by Asahi’s shock. He’s still in his bedclothes: an overlarge, highly wrinkled, brightly white collared shirt and cotton shorts. His hair is down, flat against his head, ruffled slightly by the hint of a breeze and mussed on one side. There’s a fine, pink line across his cheek, too, where his pillow had pressed into his skin.

“Good morning,” he says.

Asahi makes a noise that sounds like _mmhmhng_.

Noya smiles a little and pats Asahi on the arm absently, though Asahi can see him adjust, carefully avoiding any and all of Asahi’s wounds. Asahi watches, a little bit numb, a little bit motionless, as Noya leans against the balcony’s railing to stare out at the water.

The sun’s cresting the horizon, now, beginning to stain the sky golden-pink.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Noya asks, eyes flicking towards Asahi for a split second before returning to the horizon.

“No,” Asahi says, lowering his own gaze towards his feet. “I think Ensign Hinata was having a nightmare.”

“Ah,” Noya says. “You know, I don’t think he likes that name much, Asahi-san.”

Asahi winces. “He’s a ranked member of the Royal Guard. I can’t just call him—”

“Shouyou?” Noya supplies, with a grin that feels like a challenge.

Asahi frowns and mumbles, “Right.”

He can feel Noya’s gaze on him – he’s acutely aware of everything in the entire universe right now, aware of the turn of the earth below his feet and the steady drumbeat of waves against the shore and Noya’s heat against his arm.

“Where are you from, Asahi-san?” Noya asks, quietly.

_Where are you from, Asahi?_

_Where are you going?_

Asahi talks. He talks because Noya is good at listening. He talks because he _wants_ to, because there is something about Noya that pulls to him like the ocean, something about his eyes and his energy and his fierce, violent kindness.

He talks about his mother, lost at sea after what might’ve been a storm and what’ve been the attack of a beast twice the size of a schooner. He talks about his father sending him away to the shipyards to make money, sending him away with his voice still cracking, his muscles still aching with growing pains. He talks about Suga, about the only friend he’s ever known… about how it felt to look at Hinata and know, for the first time in days, that Suga had survived. That he’d been saved by the Guard. That he was out there, somewhere.

Breathing.

Smiling.

That was enough, Asahi thought. That had always been enough for Asahi.

Noya listens quietly, solemnly, nodding where it’s appropriate, a small frown tugging at his pretty, bow-shaped lips. When Asahi’s done, Noya nudges him in the side, and Asahi is near-floored by the affection in the gesture, by the softness of it.

 _You’re afraid of this boy_ , Asahi’s mind attempts to remind him.

 _No, I’m not_ , Asahi realizes. _I’m not afraid of him. It’s something else._

They talk until the last vestiges of the sunrise have disappeared, replaced by blue sky and gently rolling clouds. The Eastern Port is waking up around them; the sound of voices carries up from the street, the clatter of hooves against cobblestone, the rummage of shops being opened for the day, the smell of baking bread.

Asahi’s stomach growls. Noya grins at him.

“Let’s go inside. We can eat breakfast. And I want to talk to Shouyou about how to move forward.”

Asahi nods and allows Noya to lead him in. Inside, Hinata has vacated his futon already and redressed in his Ensign’s uniform from yesterday. His hair is standing up every which way on his head, exceptionally bright, a thousand different shades of red-orange-yellow-gold; it had been hard to tell just how luminescent it is in the lamplight of the night before.

“Good morning!” he says, when Asahi and Noya enter. A smile breaks across his face like a wave against the beach. And then he blinks, reeling back a little as he looks at Noya. “Noya-san? Were you this short last night?”

Noya launches himself at the smaller boy and Asahi watches as they wrestle, Noya getting Hinata into a headlock easily despite the inch or two of height Hinata has on him.

Hinata’s squeaking something about, “How did you do that? That was really cool!” and Noya’s laughing loud and boisterous and Asahi…

Asahi catches himself smiling. Soft and easy.

 _Like it should be_.

Noya and Hinata break apart and Hinata bounces a little on his toes, looking totally unconcerned about how rumpled his uniform has become.

“Thanks for putting me up for the night, it was a big help.”

“No problem, no problem!” Noya says, clapping a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “My house is your house, my friend!”

“I can make breakfast,” Asahi offers quietly, and both boys turn to look at him, eyes wide in identical expressions of joy.

Asahi’s definitely smiling now, hard enough to hurt. He ducks his head, feeling the back of his neck heat up.

Hinata still looks ecstatic at the idea of food, but Noya’s expression has softened somewhat, following Asahi’s movements.

 _Maybe_ — something small in Asahi’s mind whispers.

Asahi tramps it down, squashes it, reminding himself fiercely that he is content with what he’s got. That he doesn’t deserve to ask a single thing more from Noya than he already has.

He turns to the cabinets quickly and begins to pull out supplies for flatcakes. Noya announces, “I’m going to wake Ryuu,” and Asahi listens to his footsteps retreat, listens for the sound of a door opening and closing.

He forces himself to take a deep breath, closing his eyes against the suddenly violent mental image of Noya’s smile.

“Can I help?” Hinata’s voice asks, and Asahi jumps a little and turns to see the smaller boy at his side, peering curiously at the ingredients on the counter.

“Can you cook?” Asahi asks.

Hinata winces. “Not… really,” he admits, his mouth turning downwards into a dramatic pout. “I mean, I _can_ , because I had to when I was a kid, but I’m not very good.” Then he brightens and says, “But I can learn!” and Asahi finds he doesn’t have the heart to say no.

At first, Hinata really is abysmal. His movements are too quick and uncoordinated, too full of intent to harm. But the kid’s an amazingly quick learner – he settles into the motions quickly, easily.

“You’re amazing, Asahi-san,” Hinata enthuses when Asahi cracks an egg one-handed.

Asahi finds himself smiling again.

By the time Noya and Tanaka emerge, the flatcakes are almost done. Noya’s arms are full of rolled paper – Asahi thinks they’re probably maps – and he nearly drops them in his eagerness to hurry to Asahi’s side and watch as Asahi flips the cakes onto a plate.

“Smells great,” Tanaka observes with an enormous stretch. “I’m starving.”

They eat quickly, Hinata especially, who cradles his plate of flatcakes like he hasn’t seen a bite to eat in days. When they’re finished, Tanaka and Hinata clear the table while Noya spreads his maps out, pinning the corners of the largest one down onto the table with tacks.

It’s a map of the kingdom and the kingdom’s coast, with each individual island labeled clearly. There are black dots scattered across the map – a fresh-looking one at the Eastern Port, at a small town to the west Asahi’s never heard of, on a series of islands famous for being a tourist destination.

“This,” Tanaka says, “is a map of every place _Seijoh_ has attacked in the past decade or so.”

Hinata’s eyes widen. He touches the dot to the west gingerly, with only his fingertips. “That’s my village,” he says.

Tanaka nods. “Yuu and I have been tracking them ever since our town was attacked. That was… what, five years ago?” Noya nods in confirmation, so Tanaka continues. “We’ve had to follow stories and sightings for the most part, but we’ve also been to the site of a couple attacks right after they’ve happened, too. And then we come here, wait for them to show up for _months_ , and let them get _away_.”

“Wait,” Asahi says, alarmed. “You knew they would come to the Eastern Port? _How_?”

“It was more of a prediction,” Noya says, just as Tanaka growls roughly, “Shit load of good that did us.”

“We noticed a pattern after awhile,” Noya explains, much more evenly than Tanaka, though Asahi can see the frustration barely contained behind his eyes, too. He opens a hand towards the map. “Do you see it?”

Asahi and Hinata both squint at the map for a second. Their eyes meet briefly and Hinata shrugs before they both shake their heads.

Noya nods. “Guess it’s hard to spot if you don’t know what you’re looking for. Here.” He leans forward, traces a finger across the map – a line, vaguely parabolic, stringing each site together almost perfectly.

“It’s a curve,” Asahi says.

“O- _kay_ …?” Hinata mumbles, looking lost.

“It’s the sun,” Noya says, that dangerous smile creeping back across his face.

Asahi blinks. “What do you mean, the _sun_?”

“On the summer solstice, this is the pattern the sun follows as it crosses the sky.”

There is a silence, heavy and stunned, as Asahi and Hinata both attempt to comprehend this information.

“He did know, then,” Hinata says, quietly.

Asahi turns to stare at him. Noya and Tanaka both do, too.

“He?” Tanaka repeats.

“Um,” Hinata says, looking alarmed. There’s a flush to his cheeks, a nervous fidget vibrating up and down his fingers. “Kageyama. The… pirate we captured.”

Asahi doesn’t miss the reluctance in Hinata’s voice when he says the word _pirate_. Like everything inside him is screaming to call this Kageyama something else.

“You asked him about this?” Noya asks, looking a little surprised.

“I…” Hinata bites his lip. “Yeah. Well, my captain did. I knew he was lying when he said he didn’t know, though. I could tell.”

There’s something in those words, too. _I could tell_.

Asahi tears his eyes away from Hinata, feeling like he’s intruding on something desperately private, something he has no business involving himself in.

“So they’re following the sun,” Asahi says. “Okay. _Why_?”

Noya and Tanaka exchange glances. Finally, Tanaka shrugs. “They’re made of darkness now,” he says. “So they’re following the light.”

Something is beginning to fall into place inside Asahi’s mind. Pieces of the puzzle, clicking together one by one.

“You said they took something important from you,” Asahi says, slowly, finally allowing himself to look Noya full in the face. “What was it?”

A smile pulls at Noya’s face. Like he’s been waiting for Asahi to ask for days. Like he’s been watching for it, this entire time.

“My light,” Noya says. And then he pulls his shirt off.

Asahi’s heart launches itself into his throat. Noya is artfully narrow, slender, built of strong lines and graceful planes. Asahi’s eyes follow the lines of Noya’s muscles against his will, the curve of his throat and the lines of his collarbones and the fine trail of hair leading from his navel to his waistband.

And then his brain catches up to the rest of him, and he realizes what Noya wanted him to see.

There are shadows crawling across Noya’s torso, discoloring the smooth tan of his skin. The shadows make the planes and places they cover look sickly, almost _dead_. It’s especially bad on his chest, against his heart, where a deeply black line carves across his body, like a canyon gauged into his skin. A wound.

 _Like mine_ , Asahi realizes. And then he feels sick.

“They’re looking for someone with enough life energy to burn their shadows away,” Noya explains.

Asahi cannot think. He cannot speak.

His hand finds the wound on his side.

Noya’s eyes follow his motion.

Asahi licks his lips. “Will I…?” he tries, but his voice cracks, dry, terrified.

“Maybe,” Noya says. “I’m not sure. Don’t worry, though. It doesn’t hurt most of the time.”

Hinata gets to his feet sharply. “I need to get back to King’s City,” he says, voice surprisingly steady. “I have to report back to my captain. And, Kageyama… I need to…”

There it is again, that infinitesimal change, that tiny shift when Hinata talks about the pirate Kageyama Tobio.

Asahi’s barely listening as they say their goodbyes. He’s still processing Noya’s wounds, processing the possibility that they might become his own. When Hinata shakes his hand, he tries to make himself smile, but he thinks Hinata probably sees right through it.

Hinata smiles back at him anyway, glowing and kind.

Something very, very cold bursts into life in Asahi’s chest.

 _Oh_ , he thinks.

Oh.

“Be careful, Hinata-kun,” is what he says out loud, directed towards a spot half a foot above Hinata’s head. “Please.”

Hinata nods. “You too, Asahi-san. I’ll see you soon.”

Asahi watches him go, his hands balled into fists, nails digging into his skin hard enough to hurt.

It isn’t until Tanaka has left for the day and the maps have been replaced in the linen closet that Noya places himself in front of Asahi, arms folded across his chest.

“Asahi-san,” he says. He sounds a little sharper than usual. “If you want to leave, now would be the time.”

_What do you want, Asahi-san?_

_Where are you_ going _?_

“I don’t know what I want,” Asahi admits.

Noya nods. “Okay,” he says. “That’s okay. Someday, you will.”

 

Tadashi’s almost positive that he’s dreaming.

He feels like he remembers drowning, being pulled into the depths of the ocean by a monster made from darkness. And then, while he was sinking… a boy, made from sunlight. Swimming towards him. Touching his chest, maybe? It all becomes a blur after that – did he fight the monster? Did he win? Is he maybe dead, now?

Is this what death looks like?

If so, death looks like his old home, his father’s music room, the sun glowing golden against the smooth wood of the piano.

If so, death looks like Tadashi in a suitcoat, clean boots, and an ascot, his hair not yet long enough to obstruct his vision when it falls into his face.

If so, death looks like a blond boy with glasses, his head bowed and his eyes pressed shut as his fingers dance across the keys of the piano. Death looks like the sunlight turning his hair to lamplight, to starlight. Death looks like the boy’s head lifting, one eye cracking open to meet Tadashi’s own.

Ah.

Tadashi remembers this.

(He doesn’t think he’ll ever, ever be able to forget it. He thinks he will live with this memory for the rest of eternity, whether he is dead or alive, doomed to relive it every time he closes his eyes.)

Death, it seems, feels like an old, familiar tremor running down his body, from his head to his toes.

The boy rises from the piano and crosses the room, standing in front of Tadashi like a fact.

Like a miracle.

His hand finds Tadashi’s face, uncharacteristically careful, almost reverent, his thumb brushing over Tadashi’s freckles.

Tadashi’s eyes close on instinct.

Kei’s breath brushes his cheek.

Tadashi wakes.

He opens his eyes to what looks like the medical cabin aboard Nekoma. His body aches terrifically, a thousand different varieties of hurt that Tadashi doesn’t have a name for. He groans and squeezes his eyes closed again, trying to recapture the feeling of Kei’s fingertips on his face, the breathless helplessness of their first kiss.

“You’re awake!” a voice gasps, beside him.

Tadashi forces himself to open his eyes and face Inuoka, who is jumping out of the chair at Tadashi’s bedside. Inuoka’s fussing over him immediately, grabbing for water and elevating one of his feet and pressing a hand to Tadashi’s forehead in a rather disconcertingly mother-like way.

Tadashi shakes the touch off. “I’m okay,” he assures Inuoka. “What happened?”

“You were pulled under,” Inuoka explains. “We thought you were dead, Yamaguchi. It was terrifying. And then there was this glow, below the waves… kind of reddish-orange, I don’t know how to describe it. And then we saw your head, and Captain jumped overboard and swam out to haul you up…”

Inuoka shudders.

“It was horrible,” he whispers.

Tadashi offers a weak smile. “It wasn’t exactly lovely on my end, either.”

Inuoka laughs, but the sound is strained. “Your body is mostly unharmed, which is good. Kenma says that it doesn’t look like you swallowed much water at all – which is crazy, you were under for so long – but… you should see…”

Inuoka pulls the bedding away from Tadashi’s foot.

“We don’t know what’s wrong with it,” Inuoka whispers. “Not even Kenma—”

Tadashi isn’t listening.

Around his ankle, where that _thing_ grabbed him and pulled him under, Tadashi’s skin has turned gray. It looks like the flesh is _dying_ , blackened and numb to the touch. He tries to move his toes, and they barely respond.

“Oh, hell,” Tadashi whimpers. “Oh, fucking _hell_.”

“Kenma thinks it’s okay!” Inuoka says, quickly. “It doesn’t seem like it’s spreading, and you should probably still be able to use your foot… it’s strange, though.” Inuoka’s voice drops. “Like shadow. I don’t know.”

Tadashi nods, trying to reassemble his thoughts, rediscover his tranquility from the sunlit room with Kei. It’s becoming very difficult; the edges of his vision are going gray with panic. “Tell me we’re at least headed back ashore.”

Inuoka nods. “We’ve been sailing through the night. But… Yamaguchi…”

Tadashi grits his teeth.

“None of our compasses or navigational tools are working. And, around midnight, this thick mist set in, and Yaku-san says—”

 _Nekoma_ ’s alarm bells blare, loud and metallic and insistent.

They both freeze.

Wait.

Again, like a scream, like the call of a beast made from darkness.

Tadashi’s stomach has turned to lead. Inuoka’s eyes meet his, wide and frightened.

“Help me up,” Tadashi says. “We’re going to check it out.”

Inuoka slings Tadashi’s arm around his shoulder immediately, lifting Tadashi off the bed and helping him down the corridor. He has to climb the ladder to the deck on his own, but Inuoka spots him, placing a hand on his back every time his footing slips.

Above deck, _Nekoma_ is cloaked in mist. It’s as if the world is made from gray and white, thick like smoke, thick enough to weigh heavy on Tadashi’s shoulders. Inuoka and Tadashi slow, winding their way towards what must be the direction of the helm.

There are voices coming from the helm, a sharp tone Tadashi recognizes as Yaku’s, a higher and quicker one that sounds like Lev. Inuoka helps Tadashi up the stairs; it’s not until Tadashi’s just over an arm’s length from the source of the voices that he realizes it’s all of them, the entire crew.

Inuoka waves a hand like that will make the mist dissipate.

“What’s going on?” Tadashi asks.

Yaku waves him forward silently.

He steps. Feet bare against the deck. Arms bare against the wind.

Onboard, the world is made from gray and white, but, several ship lengths off _Nekoma_ ’s port side, there is a strange, orange glow.

“Christ,” Yamamoto murmurs.

Kuroo sweeps the captain’s hat off his head and holds it against his chest.

They sail slowly past the burning remains of a ship, ghostly, like a graveyard in the mist. The fire is strangely audible over the sounds of the sea, crackling and snapping and _whispering_ , a voice pressed up against Tadashi’s ear. The light it casts seems to set the whole sea aflame; the light reflects rusty in the mist and makes it look like the sky has turned red.

The flag has fallen from the ship’s mast to sink slowly into the water, an ultimate disgrace, a final tragedy. It is marked with the sigil of the kingdom’s mercantile ships.

“The gunpowder must’ve ignited,” Yaku says, in a valiant attempt to sound normal.

Kenma says, “Gunpowder doesn’t do _that_.”

No.

It doesn’t.

Gunpowder doesn’t do _that_.

There are bite marks on the flaming hull of the ship. Gauges, as tall as Tadashi at least, borne into once-smooth wood. Strange stains, black and crawling and shadowy.

“What’s going on, Kenma-san?” Lev whispers.

Kenma looks at him without a trace of annoyance. Tadashi can’t remember that last time that’s happened. Maybe it never has.

“The door,” Kenma says, quietly, “opens both ways.”

Kuroo’s mouth twists into a grimace that he probably intended to be a smirk. “The Fountain,” he drawls. “Hmmm. Interesting. I was wondering when our old friends would make a move.”

“Wait,” Kai says. “Captain, you can’t mean—”

“Oh, but I do.” Kuroo tilts his head upwards, towards the crimson-stained sky. “I did wonder if we’d ever meet again.”

“The Fountain?” Lev echoes, sounding a little lost, a lot terrified. “What are you talking about?”

Yaku’s shoulders stiffen. He moves forward, placing himself between the wreckage of the burning ship and Lev automatically. “The Fountain of Youth,” he whispers.

“The door opens both ways,” Kenma repeats. “Someone tried to leave, so now… something else gets to come in.”

Lev whimpers.

The wound on Yamaguchi’s ankle throbs.

 

The ship Hinata finds for them turns out to be… not all that bad, actually.

In fact, Daichi is more than a little pleasantly surprised when they arrive at the Eastern Port to find _Karasuno_ at the docks.

“This is it?” Daichi asks Hinata, surprised, and Hinata nods his head enthusiastically.

“Yes, Captain!” he says, bouncing a little where he stands, and, next to him, Kageyama exhales impatiently.

Hinata’s mouth immediately twists into a frown. “Shut up, Bakageyama.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Kageyama points out, rather reasonably, Daichi thinks. But then he adds, “Dumbass Hinata,” and any potential respect Daichi might’ve been fostering crumbles into dust.

Daichi sighs loudly and pointedly before they can start getting into it again. “Can we go aboard, Hinata?”

Hinata tilts his head back, following the line of _Karasuno_ ’s mast upwards, his mouth curving back upward into that natural, awe-struck smile. “Yep! Tanaka-san said to let ourselves aboard if we beat him here.”

Tsukishima makes a doubtful _tsk_ ing sound. Hinata sticks his tongue out at him.

It becomes clear to Daichi incredibly quickly that _Karasuno_ really is a beautiful ship. Maybe not quite as amazing as Hinata made it sound as they travelled here (“Wait until you see her, Captain! You’re going to love her, I know it!”), but still. She’s clearly steady and reliable. Easily worth the commission fee – and probably a lot more, if Daichi’s being honest.

“Impressive,” he tells Hinata, and Hinata gives a little squeaking noise of gratitude before grabbing Yachi’s hand and hauling her away, towards what he promises is the medic’s bay.

“Hinata-kun has a good eye,” a quiet voice says – _laughs_ – against Daichi’s ear, and Daichi jerks forward, almost stumbling. A hand catches his arm before he can fall.

“Careful, Captain,” Suga says, cheerfully. “I’m still sickly, remember? I might not catch you next time?”

Daichi laughs weakly and turns on his heel, forcing himself to look Suga in the face, one of his hands reaching up to rub through his own hair automatically.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was lost in thought.”

“You were a thousand miles away,” Suga confirms, in that dreamy, sing-song way he has, and Daichi finds himself noticing tiny things. Stupid things. Things like how much healthier Suga looks, how much sharper his eyes are as they trace Daichi’s face, how the sunlight catches in Suga’s hair and turns it to a halo.

“Suga,” he says. And then he bites down on the inside of his cheek, hating himself for saying anything.

Suga tilts his head. “Yes?”

Daichi’s taken the first step, now.

Might as well just take the fall.

“Are we going to survive this?” Daichi asks, and he sounds _small_. Afraid.

“I can show you,” Suga says. Daichi blinks. “What I see. I can show you. But it’s not… it’s not straightforward. Or simple. It can be… overwhelming.”

Daichi hesitates, turns this idea over in his mind. “How—?”

Suga holds his hand out.

“Touch me,” he says.

Daichi flinches back, furious and terrifies and tied into knots – positive that Suga is mocking him, that Suga _knows_ , somehow – but Suga’s eyes are wide and earnest, and there is nothing cruel twisting his face. Nothing mocking in the set of his mouth.

Resolve finds traction in Daichi’s chest and he reaches out. Their hands meet; Daichi’s thumb brushes the inside of Suga’s wrist.

There is a blue glow. A symbol, like a gear. Like a cog in a clock.

And then the world falls away.

It is nothing, and it is everything. It is the entirety of the cosmos, spiraling past Daichi’s face. Ships and the midnight sky and the ocean and King Ushijima’s face. Daichi is unmoored, unmanned. There is nothing but emptiness below his feet, nothing but everything and anything and the turn of time itself. He sees the beginning of the universe and the end. He sees Hinata’s hair, he sees Suga’s smile, he sees Suga’s lips pressing against Daichi’s chest and stomach and thighs, he sees shadow and nightmares and the darkness at the end of the world—

And then Suga pulls away his hand away, and Daichi is steady again. He draws a heavy, shuddering breath, trying to rationalize the images, make sense of them in his head.

“I’m sorry,” Suga breathes, quiet and horrified, reaching up to cup Daichi’s cheek. “I know it’s disconcerting the first time. Are you okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Daichi says, but the sound is strangled, and Suga’s eyes are too close to his, inquisitive and genuinely worried.

 _That image again, of Suga kissing him, his lips tracing a line down Daichi’s body, lower and lower until Daichi is aflame, every inch of him alight_.

“I’m fine,” Daichi repeats.

He’s opening his mouth to say something – he doesn’t know what, he never really knows what he’s about to say when he looks into Suga’s face. And then a voice yelps, “ _Suga_?” from the other side of the ship, and Daichi turns to see Hinata running across the deck, dragging a very large, heavily bandaged man with a mess of long brown hair.

“Asahi!” Suga gasps, staggering backwards a couple steps before surging forward and launching himself into the brown-haired man’s arms. They hug desperately, _euphorically_ , each with all the unbridled joy of a person who couldn’t imagine ever seeing the other alive.

“I thought you’d died,” Asahi says.

Suga beams at him. “I knew you hadn’t.”

There is a clamor at the gangplank, and Daichi is turning to see the _Karasuno_ ’s owners stepping onto the deck. Daichi’s crew goes motionless, silent, except for Hinata, who pats Asahi cheerfully on the back and hurries over to greet the two newcomers.

“Oh, good, Asahi-san’s still alive,” one of them says. “Shouyou, I was worried you’d kidnapped him.”

The taller man roars with laughter and claps a heavy hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “Well,” he says, his other hand shoved into his pocket and a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “I feel underdressed.”

“You _look_ underdressed,” Hinata says, deadpan, and the man barks out another laugh and grabs him rather roughly and abruptly, slinging his arm around Hinata’s shoulder and rubbing his hand through Hinata’s hair.

There’s an automatic reaction in Daichi – a response to the unknown, to the potential threat of Hinata being physically attacked – but it’s suppressed quickly when he sees that Hinata’s laughing.

However.

 _However_.

Daichi sees the motion, across the deck. He sees Kageyama lurch forward, Ennoshita catching his arm before he can take more than a step or two. Daichi doesn’t miss the movement. He doesn’t miss the look on Kageyama’s face, either: part concern, part anger, part murderous intent.

This could become a problem, Daichi realizes, something heavy sinking in his stomach.

(Daichi is beginning to understand that this pirate’s attachment to Hinata Shouyou has always been a problem.)

Shaking off the shock and concern, Daichi steps forward to introduce himself. Tanaka releases Hinata, stepping forward to shake Daichi’s hand. His partner does, too – a little, sharp-eyed man who introduces himself as Nishinoya – and then they’re leading him into the captain’s quarters, sitting him down, and spreading a rather impressive collection of maps across the table.

It is abundantly clear that Tanaka and Nishinoya are clever and capable. Tanaka has approximately a thousand scars and a snarl that could clear a battlefield, and Nishinoya gives the impression that he’s a bomb seconds away from detonating, but Daichi still finds himself liking them. They clearly know a lot more about the ghost ship than Daichi does, too, which means that Daichi is, to an extent, rather dependent on their assistance.

But…

(“What did you say Tanaka and Nishinoya do for work, Hinata?”

“They’re… um. Mercenaries. Captain.”)

 _Mercenaries_.

Daichi fights the urge to groan and bury his face in his hands.

If the king knew about this… If he knew about _any_ of it, about an unsanctioned mission to take down a shipful of specters, about commissioning a ship from a pair of mercenaries, about willingly bringing a crown-condemned _bandit_ along for the ride – Daichi would be out of a job.

Worse, probably.

Daichi would be _dead_.

“Captain,” Tanaka says, next to him.

Daichi turns, trying to school his expression back into a neutral, thoughtful frown. He’s pretty sure he fails miserably.

“We only have one condition for this partnership,” Nishinoya says, resting his chin on his hand and gazing at Daichi with steady, confident eyes. “When you go to find _Seijoh_ , we want to be brought along with you.”

Daichi considers this.

“I am the captain of this crew,” he finally says. “If you sail with us, you sail under me. Is that acceptable?”

Tanaka and Nishinoya exchange brief glances before their faces split into twin smiles, wide and wicked.

“Welcome aboard _Karasuno_ ,” Nishinoya says, “Captain Sawamura.”

Daichi gets to his feet. “Are you ready to leave today?” he asks, and Tanaka lifts his chin proudly.

“Captain,” he says, “we have been ready to leave for months.”

And this, Daichi knows. This, Daichi understands. The tension drains from him, every fear and anxiety and lingering image of Suga’s lips. Action has always suited Sawmura Daichi. It makes him feel steady. It makes him feel _strong_.

 

They set sail within the hour, heading for deeper waters.

Somewhere, miles below the surface, miles out to sea, something stirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm juggling too many pairings here. The smart literary thing to do would be cut back.  
> Also Me: Great, good point, so what I'm hearing here is that I should introduce Yamatsuki right n-


	8. ways to fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A list of things humans have found in place of wings.

They meet in Daichi’s captain’s quarters, after the sun’s gone down and shadows have spread across _Karasuno_ ’s deck, like a reminder.

The captain’s quarters are long and light, with arching ceilings, ribbed with wood. Shouyou thinks it sort of feels like they’re in the belly of a shark. (He voices this thought out loud by accident and Tsukishima snorts loudly.)

Shouyou sits where he usually does during squadron meetings back at headquarters, with Yachi on one side and Tsukishima on the other. The others settle into their usual places, too, in a way that makes Shouyou feel weirdly nostalgic.

Everything’s changed, but nothing has. _Fundamentally_ , Squadron 61 hasn’t changed at all. But lots and lots of little things have.

Everyone’s out of uniform, for one thing, dressed in simple work clothes instead of the crisp, vibrant colors of the crown. Yachi is paler, Kiyoko quieter, Ennoshita even more on his guard. On the opposite side of the table, Sugawara and Tanaka have squeezed in between Kinoshita and Narita. And Narita sits with one hand on Kageyama’s shoulder, like he’s expecting Kageyama to get up and run.

That’s pretty stupid, Shouyou thinks. It’s not like he has anywhere to go. They’ve made good time during the day; even if Kageyama _did_ escape the crew, all that’s out there is open sea.

Kageyama’s eyes lift to meet Shouyou’s and he shifts in annoyance, tugging at his handcuffs. For a second, Shouyou’s heart backflips into his throat, convinced that he’s spoken out loud again. But then Kageyama’s gaze drops back down to the table, and he relaxes.

_This is fine_ , Shouyou reminds himself.

(Thirteen years of shared nightmares, banging around inside his brain, scream differently.)

“Well, Captain?” Ennoshita prompts. “What’s our plan?”

Daichi nods for Noya to take the spot at the head of the table. Noya spreads out his marked map, the one with the dots in the curvy line that follow the path of the sun. He launches into an explanation, animated and fast-paced, responding to questions enthusiastically. Shouyou’s already heard this spiel, so he fidgets instead of listening, watching Daichi pace, watching Asahi flinch nervously every time the ship crests a larger wave, watching Sugawara’s eyes follow Daichi.

Watching Kageyama.

No, scratch that. Trying _not_ to watch Kageyama.

Tsukishima looks sideways at him and Shouyou freezes in place, realizing that he’s been physically bouncing up and down in his seat.

_Oops_ , Shouyou mouths. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

The place Noya points out on the map is a good two and a half week’s journey down the coastline, a small town on the kingdom’s northern border. Noya and Tanaka both offer suggestions of places to dock to resupply, but Daichi declines.

“We’re trying to prevent the apocalypse, right?” he says, and Tanaka nods with a lopsided grin. “Then, in that case, I think we can go without fresh fruit for a couple days.”

Sugawara muffles a laugh behind his hand and Daichi’s ears turn pink.

“What?” Daichi says, a little defensively. “That seems reasonable to me.”

“It’s very reasonable, Captain,” Sugawara says, his voice heavy with laughter.

Daichi gives an awkward little cough and turns a deeper shade of red.

Tsukishima makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “The world hasn’t ended yet, and it’s been a decade since Hinata’s village was destroyed,” he points out. “I think a couple hours docked at a port wouldn’t hurt us.”

Ennoshita pats his shoulder cheerfully. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Tsukishima-kun?”

Tsukishima wrinkles his nose at him. “I wasn’t aware ‘adventure’ meant we had to go without bathing for a month.”

“Two weeks!” Shouyou corrects. Tsukishima places his hand on Shouyou’s face and shoves him away.

Kageyama leans forward to take a look at the map, his mouth curved downwards in a small, thoughtful frown, and Shouyou is most certainly _not_ staring at the line of his neck or the slope of his shoulders or the graceful, steady curve of his back. “That’s bandit territory,” Kageyama says thoughtfully. “Towns up that way tend to be run mostly by pirates and gangs. They won’t like the idea of working with the crown.”

“It’ll be okay!” Shouyou chirps. “We’re not technically working for the crown anymore.”

Kageyama stares at him. “Bandits don’t usually operate under _technicalities_.”

“You would know,” Tsukishima says.

Kageyama’s eyebrows furrow and he shifts his gaze away from Shouyou to glare at Tsukishima. “Do you have something to say to me?”

Tsukishima lifts an eyebrow. “No, nothing. Your _highness_.”

Kageyama’s eyes flash and he sits up straight, hands balling into fists. Tsukishima looks down his nose at him, a twist in his mouth and something harsh and decidedly unwelcoming on his face.

“All right, that’s enough. Tsukishima, stand down,” Daichi sighs. “We’re sailing into unknown waters, facing an enemy we don’t understand. I will not tolerate infighting.”

“It’s not infighting,” Tsukishima says. “He’s not one of us.”

Kageyama visibly reels backwards.

Shouyou probably does, too.

_He’s not one of us_.

The cabin has gone silent. Tension rolls off the members of the Royal Guard’s 61st squadron like fog. The others who _are not one of them_ – Noya, Tanaka, Asahi – exchange glances, their shoulders tense, their faces set in near-identical expressions of discomfort. Only Sugawara looks unperturbed, his eyebrows lifting slightly, like he’s been watching a pot, waiting for it to boil all day.

Kageyama is folding in on himself. Shouyou can see it. He can practically _feel_ it, feel the fear rolling off Kageyama in waves, even though the set to his mouth and the steady look in his eyes haven’t changed at all.

_Alone, alone, alone, alone._

_He’s not one of us_.

“He _is_ , though.”

The words break the silence, dissonant and sudden. Shouyou winces when every eye at the table turns to him.

“He saved my life, and then Yachi and I saved his,” Shouyou continues, gaining momentum with every word he’s allowed to speak. “He helped Asahi-san. We took him out of a prison cell. He’s helping us protect people. He’s one of us.”

Tsukishima sighs and opens his mouth, probably to say something reasonable and logical. Something like, ‘Okay, but, Hinata, he’s still a _pirate_.’

And then Yachi blurts, “Hinata-kun’s right.”

Another heavy, startled beat of silence follows this proclamation. Kiyoko looks borderline _floored_.

Yachi shifts in her seat, visibly shrinks. But she continues, voice small but insistent. “It’s true. The only thing we have that Kageyama-kun doesn’t share with us is a history.”

“And a clean criminal record,” Tsukishima says, but some of the venom has drained from his voice. Plus, he’s looking at Yachi with a carefully guarded expression that Shouyou _knows_ means that he’s thinking.

“Okay, that’s enough for tonight,” Daichi decides. “We’re not debating the nature of Kageyama’s position on this crew, Tsukishima. No one’s suggesting he take over as first mate. He’s still a prisoner. But he doesn’t have to be an enemy unless you make him one.” Daichi’s eyes land on Kageyama. “Am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” Kageyama says. The words surprise Shouyou a little, but when he chances a glance at Kageyama’s face, his expression hasn’t changed at all. It’s still serious and steady.

Tsukishima nods, mollified. The conversation shifts away from Kageyama and turns towards the division of tasks for the duration of their time at sea. Shouyou tries to calm himself and breathe evenly, doing his best to soothe the tension out of his limbs. It doesn’t work, though. Shouyou didn’t particularly think it would.

Yachi’s knee bumps his reassuringly, under the table. Shouyou offers her a weak smile.

Kageyama doesn’t look at him again until the meeting is ending. Narita takes Kageyama’s arm, turns to lead him down to the hold, and Kageyama’s head whips around, his eyes flying frantically from face to face until they land on Shouyou.

_I’m here_ , Shouyou tries to think at him.

He doesn’t hear anything back. Kageyama’s eyes answer, instead.

_Alone_ , they scream. _Alone, alone, alone, alone._

 

Shouyou dreams an old dream, that night.

He dreams he’s buried beneath the rubble of his childhood home, trying to dig himself out. But the wreckage above him is getting deeper, and the sky is retreating, and soon there is no light anymore. Only darkness and silence and a ringing in Shouyou’s ears like a scream.

_I told you to get out, dumbass_ , Kageyama’s voice says, above him. Shouyou knows this piece by heart – he knows how Kageyama gets to his hands and knees, begins trying to dig Shouyou out, and digs himself under Shouyou’s skin in the process.

_It’s okay_ , Shouyou’s mind says. _It’s okay. He’ll get you out. He always does_.

Only then he blinks, and he’s not beneath the house anymore.

Shouyou doesn’t know _where_ he is. An island, maybe. A beach. He stands with his feet in the stand, wearing his uniform, which is ragged and bloodstained and torn. There’s a whispering in his ear, something dancing at the edge of his vision. By the time he turns his head to look at it, it’s gone.

“I told you to get out, dumbass,” Kageyama repeats, and now he is standing on the sand in front of Shouyou, eyes wide and wild, blood smeared on his cheek and the palms of his hands. “Please,” he says, and his voice trembles. “ _Please_ ,” he says, and his voice breaks.

“ _Shouyou_ ,” he says, and Shouyou’s heart breaks, too.

“It’s okay,” Shouyou assures him, his voice bright with false bravado. “This isn’t real.” He reaches out, tries to take hold of Kageyama’s wrist, but his fingertips pass right through him. Shadows begin to spread up Kageyama’s arm, over his body, until he is fading away completely, disappearing right in front of Shouyou’s eyes.

“This isn’t real,” Shouyou reminds himself, as panic rises like bile in his throat, like fire in his chest. “It’s a dream, Kageyama, it’s not _real_ , I promise.”

“Shouyou,” Kageyama says.

And then he is gone, and Shouyou is alone. Alone with the shadows.

Alone with the whisper in his ear.

_What makes a dream, Hinata Shouyou? What makes a truth?_

“This is a dream,” Shouyou says.

_That’s true,_ the whisper in his head says back. _But you dreamed Kageyama Tobio, too, right? Back when you were a kid. Is_ he _real, then_?

Shouyou stumbles backwards, loses his balance, and falls onto the sand. The air feels heavy, the horizon warping strangely when Shouyou looks at it – and then he turns his head, and he realizes that the ocean is burning.

“Oh, my God,” he breathes.

_You want so badly to prevent me and mine from waking,_ the voice says. _Why is that? To protect the world? To save Kageyama Tobio’s life? To save your own?_

“What are you?” Shouyou gasps, reaching up to knot his fingers in his own hair. “Get out of my head, leave me _alone_!”

_But I’m not in your head. You’re in_ mine _._

Nothing. Silence. The crackle of the flames, louder than the rush of the waves. Shouyou’s heartbeat.

_Things are never black and white, you know. Everything in this universe is_ both _. Strength and weakness. Light and dark, sun and shadow, good and evil._

_What is truth, Hinata Shouyou? What is dream?_

_What is both?_

There’s another boy on the sand beside him, now, freckled and familiar. He presses shaking fingertips to a blackened wound, wrapped around his ankle, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Where are we?” the boy asks. His voice is high and frantic. “Who are you?”

The voice laughs, sudden and bright and brass. Shouyou squeezes his eyes shut, trying to forget the sound of it. _We are at the end of the world_ , the voice says, _and this is Hinata Shouyou. He is going to save us all_.

A hand closes on Shouyou’s arm.

His eyes fly open.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says. “Are you okay?”

Shouyou takes a breath that’s closer to a wheeze, approaching a sob. He’s in _Karasuno_ ’s hold, sitting cross-legged on Kageyama’s bunk. Kageyama kneels across from him. His hand is warm on Shouyou’s arm, his fingers sturdy and unshaking and _real_.

Real.

_What makes a dream, Hinata Shouyou? What makes a truth?_

“Oi,” Kageyama says, shaking his shoulder gently. “Hinata. What’s the problem?”

“Nightmare,” Shouyou says, very soft and very small.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Now he’s crying.

Crying in a dream feels a lot like crying in real life, only Shouyou’s less inclined to hide it. He doesn’t remember the last time he hasn’t smothered his sobs in his pillow, making sure the sound of his grief and his fear and his loss stayed silent. Stayed buried.

This time, he doesn’t have the rest of the squadron to worry about. This time, it’s just him in a ragged nightshirt, with Kageyama’s hand on his arm and a voice in his ear whispering, _Hinata Shouyou. He is going to save us all_.

Kageyama freezes when the tears start coming in full force, an almost comical expression of horror dawning on his face. He pulls his hand back quickly, like Shouyou’s caught fire. After a second, though, some of the tension leaves his shoulders and he reaches forward again, this time carding his fingers through Shouyou’s hair, dragging his thumb across Shouyou’s cheekbone.

“Come here, dumbass,” he mumbles, and Shouyou lets him tug him forward, lets his head drop onto Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama’s arm curves around Shouyou’s shoulders, warm and solid, surprisingly gentle.

“It’s over, you know. It’s done,” Kageyama says.

A dam breaks.

For once in his goddamn life, Shouyou lets himself _feel_.

His parents. His home. Natsu. His squadron. King Ushijima. Kageyama. The world. Shouyou doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to be fighting for.

By the time the tears slow, steady, finally stop, Shouyou’s throat is aching. His eyes feel dry, red, and swollen. He sniffles, and the action makes his chest hurt. Slowly, he becomes more and more aware of Kageyama’s touch, hesitant and faint, stone-still against Shouyou’s body. Like he’s afraid Shouyou’s going to get up and run.

Shouyou sniffles again and sits up. Kageyama drops his arm immediately and scoots away, his eyes fixed on the wall, pink blooming like spring along the line of his neck.

“Sorry,” Shouyou says.

Kageyama coughs. “It’s… fine. Do you…” He shifts, chewing on his lip, his face screwed up in thought. “Do you need to talk about it?”

Shouyou shrugs, rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m okay. It was just… end of the world stuff, you know? I guess I got scared.”

Kageyama’s mouth presses into a thin line and he reaches up to tug at his hair. “ _Seijoh_?”

Shouyou shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The Grand King wasn’t there. It was this island… and a voice inside my head—”

The color drains from Kageyama’s face and he lunges forward, his hand closing around Shouyou’s bicep again.

“Never go there,” he hisses. “Promise me. Stay the fuck away from that place.”

Shouyou blinks at him, stunned, still swallowing back a few stray tears. “Okay,” he agrees. “But only if you stay away from there, too.”

Kageyama’s eyebrows furrow. Shouyou watches him, the soft curve of his mouth; the wide, stormy blue of his eyes; the thin white scars that tug at his upper lip and pull at his cheek.

The boy who saved his life. The boy who haunts his dreams.

“Promise,” Shouyou insists.

Kageyama’s mouth sets into a thin line and he nods, dropping his hand from Shouyou’s arm again. “I promise,” he says.

Shouyou nods and flops down onto his back. Kageyama’s bunk is uncomfortable, but the bedclothes already smell a little like him. Warm. Like the sea.

For a second, Kageyama does nothing, but then he lowers himself down to lie next to Shouyou. Their shoulders bump and he scoots away quickly. Shouyou wishes he wouldn’t.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says.

Shouyou hums, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Today. At the meeting. You said… I was one of you.”

Another hum. In confirmation, this time.

“You meant that.” Kageyama sounds confused, but he’s not phrasing it like a question. Shouyou waits.

“ _Why_?” he finally asks.

Shouyou opens one eye, tilts his head so he can meet Kageyama’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed, intent, attentive.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Shouyou says. And then he reaches over, taps his hand against Kageyama’s chest. “You’ve always been part of me, I guess.”

Kageyama’s flushing crimson again, looking startled and embarrassed and something else.

Awestruck?

Maybe?

_Shouyou_ , dream-Kageyama says inside his mind.

“Dumbass,” this Kageyama says, softly.

 

_Karasuno_ ’s crew does its job. They follow orders. They work. They sail. It’s a familiar pattern, as well as one Shouyou knows better than the back of his hand – the same pattern they’ve followed for years, ever since completing basic training.

Only, now they’ve got Noya and Tanaka, who are loud and boisterous and surprisingly capable. Now they’re chasing a ghost ship, following the invisible trail _Seijoh_ leaves across the sea.

Now Kageyama’s here.

For the first couple days, they keep him down in the hold. He’s still a pirate, after all, Daichi maintains: an enemy of the crown and a danger to the people. And Shouyou _knows_ that, he swears he does. It’s just weird, sometimes. Thinking of Kageyama as a danger.

(Especially with the memory of Kageyama’s arm around his shoulders, Kageyama’s breath warm against his cheek, Kageyama’s voice quiet beside his ear.)

“I just don’t think there’s a _point_ to it,” Shouyou says to Yachi, on the third day. “Where’s he going to _go_? Overboard?”

Yachi pauses what she’s doing – cleaning grime off the deck, the sleeves of her tunic pushed up around her elbows – to look over at Shouyou. “I mean. We don’t know what could happen. He could kill us all and commandeer the ship? Or, _or_ … I don’t know. He could swim all the way to shore?”

Shouyou considers it.

“I don’t think he could swim all the way to shore,” he decides.

Above them, a voice says, “I agree.”

Shouyou yelps and Yachi’s arm slips, her elbow bumping up against her bucket of water. Sugawara kneels down on the deck beside them and treats them both to a rather dizzying smile, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Shouyou can sort of see why Daichi gets all red whenever he looks at Sugawara. He sort of looks like a faerie or a mermaid or a siren – something beautiful and ethereal and _magic_.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sugawara laughs in response to their startled expressions, lifting his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Over the past three days, Shouyou has come to realize that talking to Sugawara is always… an experience. Shouyou doesn’t know what to make of him. His eyes have a way of looking through a person – like he’s seeing all of you at once, all your past and present and future flashing by.

Maybe that _is_ what he’s seeing. After all, Shouyou still doesn’t really get how the whole Seer thing works.

_Can you hear me now_? Shouyou thinks fiercely in Sugawara’s direction. When Sugawara’s smile doesn’t change, he breathes a little easier.

“Hinata-kun,” Sugawara says, “do you think Kageyama-kun would hurt you?”

Shouyou blinks. Their exchange in the tower back at the castle comes to mind; _If I had a knife, you’d be dead,_ isn’t exactly the kind of phrase that leaves you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Would Kageyama hurt him?

(Kageyama’s arm around his shoulders, Kageyama’s breath against his cheek, Kageyama’s voice beside his ear.)

Shouyou says, decisively, “No.”

Sugawara’s smile softens. “I didn’t think so.” He stands up, then, and stretches his limbs out gracefully. “I’ll talk to Captain Sawamura,” he announces, and then he’s walking away, leaving Yachi and Shouyou staring after him, baffled.

“Sugawara-san’s kind of incredible,” Yachi says.

Shouyou says, “Sugawara-san’s scary.”

The next morning, Daichi approaches him after they finish hoisting the sail. “I heard from Suga,” Daichi begins, but his voice breaks on Sugawara’s name in a very un-Daichi-like way. He coughs. “I heard from Suga that you think we shouldn’t be locking Kageyama up.”

Shouyou’s eyes widen. “You did?”

Daichi scrubs a hand through his hair. “He also said that he agrees with you.”

“Oh,” Shouyou says. And then, “Wait, _what_?”

Daichi grins, somewhat sheepishly. “Says that there’s approximately zero ways for the kid to escape from a ship leagues away from the coast, with one unstocked lifeboat. And, I mean, I guess he’s right about that.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Shouyou repeats. “Yeah. I mean, yes. He’s right. That’s true.”

Daichi’s gaze softens and he reaches out, places a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder. “I know you care about this kid,” he says quietly. “I understand. But please be careful, Hinata. Sometimes caring just makes things that much harder.”

A thousand questions rise on Shouyou’s tongue, things like, _What do you mean by ‘I know you care about this kid’?_ and, _Why can’t I imagine Kageyama ever hurting me, though, even though I know he could?_ and, _Does caring about Sugawara make things harder for_ you?

He swallows them and instead says, “Yes, sir.”

Daichi nods. “Okay,” he says. And then he nudges Shouyou with his elbow. “Let’s go unchain your pirate, then.”

 

They put Kageyama to work.

Daichi assigns Narita to be Kageyama’s shadow, to watch him while he works, to make sure he’s not allowed near anything he could use to slit an unsuspecting throat. Shouyou watches Kageyama, too. From a distance.

That’s nothing new, though. Shouyou’s had one hand outstretched towards Kageyama’s back since he was thirteen.

It takes a couple days, but the crew stops looking at Kageyama like he’s a time bomb about to go off. Nobody ever seems _comfortable_ around him, but Shouyou can see as Ennoshita becomes more willing to meet his eyes, as Yachi stops flinching whenever he steps near her.

“He’s not so bad, once you get to know him,” she tells Shouyou enthusiastically, on the third or fourth day after Kageyama joined the crew.

Shouyou smiles, but his stomach feels weird. Twisty. “I know,” he says, and he wonders why his voice comes out sounding a little sharp.

_I_ know _. I’ve known all along. I’ve known since I was thirteen years old._

_I know, I know, I know him_.

That’s the weirdest bit, Shouyou thinks. For so long, Kageyama existed only in Shouyou’s mind, in his memory, in his dreams. It’s _weird_ to see him interacting with other people – consulting with Daichi, arguing with Tsukishima, giving Yachi tips on using a broadsword despite her size.

_What makes a dream, Hinata Shouyou? What makes a truth?_

Shouyou is beginning to realize that he has no. Fucking. Clue.

 

The next time Shouyou dreams, it’s a little over a week later. He wakes up drenched in a cold sweat, his fingers still slightly outstretched, reaching for a phantom. In the nightmare, he’d been trying to pull the frightened, freckled boy out from the mouth of a monster.

His limbs are itching with nervous, static energy, and it becomes abundantly clear almost immediately that he’s not going to be getting any more sleep tonight. So he gets out of his bunk and dresses, heading out of the cabin as quietly as possible and climbing up the ladder.

Abovedecks, the sky seems to stretch across the entirety of the universe.

The sky’s so black it’s almost purple, dotted with stars like sugar, shook out and scattered across a countertop. The moon is rising on the horizon, a curved, crescent smile. It glows startlingly bright – bright enough to easily see the details of the ship, to pick his way across the deck, over towards the port side—

“Kageyama?”

Kageyama freezes, mid-motion, his body stretched gracefully into a perfectly executed advance-lunge. The sword he’s holding glows silver in the moonlight, the same color as Kageyama’s skin, the same color as the stars.

He lowers the sword, snapping into a painfully straight stance. The sea breeze ruffles his hair, musses it, lifts it away from his eyes. Kageyama really is beautiful, Shouyou thinks, sleepily. Silken. Like moonlight.

“What are you doing?” Kageyama hisses. “You should be asleep.”

“Nightmare,” Shouyou explains. “Are you allowed to touch a sword, Kageyama-kun?”

Kageyama’s cheeks redden. “It’s – that’s not – I’m not _hurting_ anyone—”

Shouyou laughs and waves a hand. “I know you’re not hurting anyone. You’re fine. Carry on.”

Kageyama stares at him, eyes wide and startled and the same color as the cosmos.

“You make no sense to me,” he finally says.

Shouyou frowns. “So mean, Kageyama-kun.”

“No,” Kageyama says, too quickly. “No, that’s not…” He sighs, presses his eyes closed. Pushes his free hand through his hair. It leaves his bangs sticking up haphazardly. Shouyou tries very hard not to stare. “Are you okay?”

Shouyou frowns at him for a second before understanding clicks.

“I… Yeah. I’m okay. Just want to stop thinking about it, I guess.”

Kageyama nods thoughtfully, and then he turns away, and for a second Shouyou thinks that’s it – that they’re destined to know each other only in dreams. But then he turns back around with another sword in his hand, and he tosses it to Shouyou by the hilt.

Shouyou catches it automatically.

“You want to stop thinking about it,” Kageyama says, by way of an explanation. “So stop thinking.”

Shouyou adjusts his grip on the sword, checks the balance. It’s a little too light and long for him – Shouyou thinks it might be one of Kiyoko’s – but it’ll do. He’s had to fight with worse.

“Okay,” Shouyou agrees.

Something like a smile pulls at the corner of Kageyama’s mouth.

Shouyou moves first. A simple lunge, to gauge Kageyama’s speed and agility. Kageyama parries it easily, not even blinking, the motion quick and smooth. The swords make a satisfying, ringing noise when they come together, and the collision reverberates up Shouyou’s arm. Hums in his fingertips.

_Good._

Shouyou shifts his hold on the sword and attacks again, this time aiming for Kageyama’s side. Kageyama sidesteps him easily, spinning neatly before attempting to land his own attack.

Shouyou dodges in time, but he hears the soft whistle of the steel cutting through the air in front of him.

“Yikes,” Shouyou squeaks.

“You can be faster than that,” Kageyama says.

Shouyou straightens up and glares at him, at his stupid, pretty face, unruffled and luminescent in the moonlight.

“Damn right,” Shouyou says, and then he attacks again.

The next exchange happens almost too quickly for Shouyou to process. His body is moving on instinct, responding to Kageyama naturally, easily. Like hand-to-hand, Kageyama is much better at this than Shouyou is. He moves with grace and practiced ease, whereas Shouyou is fast, sudden, unrefined.

Kageyama presses forward, trying to slash under Shouyou’s guard. Shouyou leaps backwards, his foot catching on a rope. He stumbles, reaching out to catch himself on the mast, but not before Kageyama’s blade comes to rest at his throat, steady and silver and icy cold.

“Yield,” Kageyama says, but it sounds like a question.

“I yield,” Shouyou confirms, and he lowers his sword. They stare at each other for a moment, both breathing hard, Shouyou more than aware that he’s probably red-faced and sweaty and gross-looking. Kageyama just looks _prettier_.

Some things in life are unfair.

A second passes before Kageyama prompts, quietly, “Better?”

“Yeah,” Shouyou says. “Thank you.”

Kageyama’s gaze drops from his, finds his feet. “Yeah,” he mumbles, and Shouyou finds himself fighting an affectionate smile.

_Embarrassing_ , Shouyou thinks. _Stop being stupid._

To distract himself, Shouyou flops down onto the deck, flat on his back, his arms and legs stretched out. “The stars are nice tonight,” he announces, and Kageyama hesitates before settling down on the deck next to him. He’s about two of Shouyou’s hands’ lengths away, just close enough to feel the warmth on his skin. A sudden, violent urge in Shouyou’s veins screams for him to close the distance. Curl up against Kageyama’s side.

( _Embarrassing. Stupid_.)

“Who taught you to fight?” Shouyou asks, trying valiantly to make his voice sound cheerful, normal.

“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says, and it sounds like an apology. He’s wincing, Shouyou thinks, as he looks up at the stars.

(An image, in Shouyou’s mind, of Oikawa Tooru tossing a sword to the ground in front of thirteen-year-old Kageyama’s feet. _You beat me and you walk. You lose, I put a bullet through your skull and leave your body for the seagulls. Sound fair?)_

Shouyou makes an annoyed sound at the back of his throat. “Wow. The Grand King really is amazing.”

“Stop calling him that,” Kageyama says, but there’s no anger in his voice, only something quiet and sad, and he nudges Shouyou’s arm with his shoulder.

Shouyou wishes he would leave it there. Shouyou wishes he could reach over and take Kageyama’s hand.

Shouyou wonders if Kageyama would let him.

“Was it the same nightmare as the other night?” Kageyama asks, quietly, his eyes still fixed on the sky.

Shouyou answers automatically, “Sort of. You weren’t in this one.”

And then he processes.

Realizes.

“The _dreams_ ,” he gasps. “They _are_ real! I knew they were! You get them, too, then? You see me, too? When I see you? Ever since we were kids? Right? _Right_?”

Kageyama’s body has gone very tense, beside him. His eyes press closed, stay squeezed shut like that for several long seconds, before he lets them flutter open and says, “Right.”

Shouyou takes a long, deep breath. And then he whispers, “Thank God.”

Kageyama sits up, startled by his tone. “You’re not going to cry again, are you?” he whispers, urgent.

Shouyou laughs, but it sounds a little watery. “No. Bakageyama.”

“Don’t call me that, dumbass Hinata—”

Shouyou touches Kageyama’s face. Kageyama freezes, stone still. His eyes wide, his mouth open.

“That’s how I knew,” Shouyou says. His fingertips trace gently along Kageyama’s jawline. His skin is smooth, warm, silken-soft. “Because you always felt real.”

He lets the touch drop, because Kageyama looks like he’s about to stab him. He lets the touch drop and lies back down, on his back, staring up at the night sky, because he thinks that’s probably what Kageyama wants.

“You always felt real, too,” Kageyama mutters. “Realer than real life, sometimes.”

Shouyou nods, happiness taking root and flowering inside his chest. “Why, though?” he asks. “Why does that happen? Is it just us? Is it because of the thing with _Seijoh_? How you’re… not-quite-human, or something?”

Kageyama sighs. “I don’t know. Probably. I don’t think this happens with normal people.”

Shouyou swallows a giggle. “Well, I don’t want to worry you or anything, but it’s looking like you’re not normal, Kageyama-kun.”

“Shut up, dumbass.”

Shouyou can’t help laughing at that, and Kageyama’s stern expression softens, too.

“Your sister,” Kageyama says. “How is she?”

“Good.” Shouyou beams. “Natsu’s at finishing school. She’s really smart, way smarter than me. And she’s read so many books – more books than I’ve ever seen in my whole life, probably. You can come with me to see her, next time. She had a huge crush on you for years, you know. She’d probably—”

Shouyou’s voice catches and dies. She’d probably _what_? Be even more smitten with him now? Fall even more in love with his awkwardness and his fierce protective streak and his eyes like the sky before a storm? _Attract_ him, with her easy way with people and her command over her femininity and the way she flutters her eyelashes when she flirts?

Is something like that what Kageyama wants?

Kageyama’s cheeks flush. “Why the hell would you trust me around your little sister? I’m a _bandit_. And a _pirate_.”

Shouyou blinks, trying to shake off that abrupt, weird feeling of nausea and unease. “Oh. Right. I forgot about the bandit thing.”

“How the fuck did you _forget_ about the _bandit_ _thing_? I was in prison about to be _executed_ —”

Shouyou throws his hands in the air and snaps something back, and Kageyama responds quick and sharp, but Shouyou is thinking about Kageyama as a teenager. Kageyama, kicked off his crew for saving Shouyou’s life. Kageyama, left alone. Alone, alone, alone.

They stay like that, lying side-by-side, for the rest of the night, until the sky has turned heather-gray and feather-light. Kageyama stores the swords back where he found them and lets himself back into the hold, showing Shouyou where and how he broke the lock.

“Goonight,” Kageyama says, before he shuts the door.

There are a million things Shouyou can think of to say, and none of them _right_.

“Goodnight, Kageyama-kun.”

_Not quite._

 

When Shouyou was small, his father told him that sailing was like flying.

When his dad described it – the waves, the breeze, the smell of the surf clinging to his skin – it had all sounded like magic to Shouyou. That feeling was something unreachable and unfathomable, as deep and mysterious as the sea herself. Even when he enlisted in the Royal Guard, his dad’s description of sailing as flight had seemed… remote, somehow. Completely separate from the work Shouyou was doing.

 

Shouyou thinks he understands, now.

 

(Because humans don’t have wings, we look for ways to fly.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hinata voice] thirst has no curfew.


	9. miles to go before i sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare, a daydream, and a wall made of iron.

Before the attack, Tadashi never dreamed.

Well, logically speaking, he probably _did_ dream, at least a little. They were just fleeting, ephemeral. A couple notes pressed against well-loved piano keys. The suggestion of warmth. The smell of the ocean. His mother’s voice. Kei’s laugh.

Now, he can’t seem to go a single night without being consumed by shadow, without burning with an indescribable sort of pain emanating from his marked ankle. Without staring into the eyes of a boy with hair the color of fire, and wondering whether, when they finally met, it would be a relief or a tragedy.

“You seem off,” Inuoka says, after half a week of this, worry evident in his downturned eyebrows and furrowed brow. Tadashi doesn’t know how to reassure him.

“I just haven’t been sleeping great lately.” He tries for a comforting tone, but, going by Inuoka’s reaction, it has the opposite effect.

“You should talk to Kenma,” Inuoka says.

And Tadashi knows that. He _knows_ he should talk to Kenma – or, if not Kenma, at least somebody _._ He knows these dreams are not nothing. The voice and the red-haired boy and the pain in his ankle… none of it is _nothing_.

But Kenma is busy, busier than the rest of them. Tadashi knows that, too. He knows that the crew is stressed and scared and on edge. He knows that Lev has been crying in his bunk when he thinks the others can’t hear him. He knows you could cut the tension around the captain with a knife.

So instead of saying anything about anything, Tadashi smiles at Inuoka tightly, nods, and goes back to the repair job he’d been working on. A simple fix – a loose chunk of the railing, needing to be screwed in tighter.

Easy.

Simple.

Tadashi’s always been good at fixing things that are broken. He’s had plenty of practice on himself.

“I’m fine,” he finally promises over his shoulder, his voice high with false brightness.

“If you say so,” Inuoka replies. Tadashi sees him frown.

Tadashi also sees when, at his feet, his shadow twitches.

That’s another thing. Another thing he knows he needs to talk about. Another thing he doesn’t know how to.

The shadows are stirring.

In the sky, the sun burns down hot on Tadashi’s shoulders. The heat is sharp and oppressive, and Tadashi can practically feel new freckles rising to the surface of his skin like bubbles. His eyes track his shadow as he works. He follows it, the way its edges are just a little too defined, the way its color is just a little too dark.

Despite the heat, Tadashi is cold.

“The wind is picking up,” he observes, softly.

It was just a thought. Another nothing. Fleeting. Like a dream. But Yaku raises his gaze to the sail and nods anyway, shifting his stance at the helm.

“You’re right,” he says. “Kai?”

Kai glances up from where he’s pouring over a map of the mainland, chewing on his bottom lip. “Adjust course as needed,” he says. “We need to stay on track.”

“Yes, sir. Adjusting course,” Yaku confirms. “Haiba?”

“Two-point-five degrees west, three degrees north,” Lev calls back.

“Can you help me with the sail, Yamaguchi?” Kai asks, and Tadashi nods, abandoning his repairs to help at the mast.

Adjusting the sail is slow, hard work. Tadashi’s hair is falling out of its ponytail, sticking to his face and the nape of his neck. Slick with sweat, heavy with it. He thinks he might be a little dehydrated. There is darkness intruding on the corners of his vision. Just slightly.

Just enough.

(In his mind, fingers close around his ankle and drag him under. Again and again and again. In his mind, golden eyes burn disembodied against his skin. Again and again and again. In his mind, a voice whispers, _what makes a dream_?

Again.

And again.

And again.)

_I’m scared_ , Tadashi doesn’t say, because he wants to be strong.

_I’m weak_ , Tadashi doesn’t say, because he wants to be better.

_I think I’m losing my mind_ , Tadashi doesn’t say, because he wants so, so achingly badly for it to be false.

More shadows chase each other across the deck. Around and around and around. Movements quick and fluid. Tadashi watches them.

The wound around his ankle throbs.

Around and around and around.

Fleeting.

(Like a dream.)

“All right?” Kai prompts.

There is a burst of color, and then there is blackness.

 

The town that they deserted their posts and became potential traitors to the crown to protect isn’t, it turns out, quite what Daichi had in mind.

In fact, it’s literally the furthest fucking possible option from what Daichi had in mind.

But at this point? Daichi can barely even muster the energy to be surprised. A ghost ship? Sure. Magic? All right. A member of his crew making eyes at a convicted felon? A Seer with a smile like starlight? Shadows that spread like an infection? Of course.

A tiny town in the middle of fucking nowhere surrounded by an iron wall the size of God-knows-what?

Why the fuck not.

Honestly, this is far from the weirdest thing Daichi’s seen this week. He’s not even sure Date Kougyou’s iron wall cracks the top five.

“It seems… heavily fortified,” Ennoshita observes as they draw _Karasuno_ into port.

“Heavily fortified,” Tsukishima repeats, incredulously. “It’s a _fort_.”

Daichi winces. “It does appear to have some… fort-like qualities, yes.”

Tsukishima groans.

“That’s so _cool_ ,” Hinata says, bouncing up and down on his toes and grabbing at Yachi’s shoulder. “Do you _see_ that thing? It must be at least as tall as the castle. Maybe even taller—”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s not as tall as the castle,” Kageyama grumbles, behind him. Daichi braces himself to break up a fight, but Hinata doesn’t turn – his eyes stay wide and wondering and trained directly on the enormous, sleek gray iron wall. Daichi doesn’t miss the way Kageyama’s frown deepens a little.

There is a moment of silence, and then Yachi says, very quietly, “Captain? What if they don’t need our help?”

Daichi wants to cry.

_If they don’t need our help, then we deserted Ushijima for nothing. We’ll have no way to justify this to the crown. I’ll be put to death, probably. Kageyama, definitely. Hinata, too, once they see the way those two orbit each other._

_If they don’t need our help, we’re fucked._

There’s a gentle touch at his elbow, drawing him back into himself.

“It’s okay,” Suga murmurs. “I think they do need you. I’ve Seen this place. Their troubles are… not insignificant, Sawamura-san.”

“Daichi,” Daichi corrects automatically. Suga smiles a little at him, and Daichi jerks his head away, turning to face his crew.

“Let’s disembark,” he decides. “Introduce ourselves and explain what we’re doing here. At the very least, they might have information about the ghost ship.” He gives himself a mental pat on the back – he sounds a hell of a lot more confident than he actually is. “If they don’t want our help, we can burn that bridge when we get to it.”

They secure _Karasuno_ to her moorings, alone at a fairly large, completely deserted port. There’s a path that leads from the beach to the wall, but Daichi can’t see a gate. As far as he can tell, the wall is completely, perfectly smooth, all the way around.

“This place is fuckin’ insane,” Tanaka whisper-shouts as they make their way up the path, and Daichi seriously contemplates the possibility that if he’s thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time as Tanaka Ryuunosuke, he’s finally lost it completely.

(Over the last two weeks, Daichi has come to realize that literally every single person sailing under his command is a certified, absolute madman.)

They reach the base of the wall, and… it really does seem as tall as the castle from here. Just as unbreakable, too.

He hears Hinata suck in a quiet breath, behind him.

“All right,” Nishinoya says, in a voice that sounds a little more enthusiastic than Daichi thinks the situation strictly warrants. “How do we breach this bad boy?”

“You could try asking nicely.”

There is a collective shift – Ennoshita squeaks, the rest of them draw their swords, Hinata angles his body subtly behind Kageyama (or maybe Kageyama angles himself in front of Hinata, it’s hard to tell). Daichi is fastest, sword in hand and against the chest of the newcomer in one clean motion.

“Well, now,” the man says, his hands lifted in a gesture of surrender that somehow _feels_ sarcastic. “Is that any way for a guest to greet his hosts?”

Daichi lowers his sword. The man smiles at him.

“Much better. Now, how can I help you today?”

Daichi squints at him.

“We’re looking for Date Kougyou,” he finally says. “The town. Do you—”

“Well, in that case, you’re in luck, my friend. You’re lookin’ at the advance guard.” Daichi must look skeptical, because the guard presses a hand to his chest, offended. “Come on, now. I’m plenty intimidating. Isn’t that right, Aone?”

There is a soft noise – a rumble, a sigh, a squeal – and then a part of the wall is glowing, a startling, intricate pattern the same rough shape and color as marks on Suga’s wrist. The metal shifts below the symbol, peels itself away from the wall, folds over—

_Oh_ , Daichi thinks, _there’s the gate_.

And then he thinks, _All right, maybe this_ is _the weirdest thing I’ve seen all week_.

Where there used to be solid metal, now a colossal gateway arches in the iron, tall enough for two of Daichi, stacked on top of each other, to pass through easily. The gateway is carved carefully, intricately, like it’s been sitting there precisely like that for years, not just sprung fully formed from the metal.

On the other side, a hillside village gleams like diamond in the sun, every tiny structure made from the same iron as the wall. A hugely tall man stands beside the entryway, pulling his hand away from the metal. His wrist is glowing blue, the same formation that had been on the wall not seconds before.

“Oh, my God,” someone gasps.

“ _Holy_ shit _, that was the coolest thing I’ve ever_ seen!” another voice (Hinata) squeaks.

“How?” Daichi finally manages.

“You’re not in King’s City anymore, love,” the first guard says. “In places like this, the Nether rules more than the earth does. Like prevailing winds. We’re closer to the end, here.”

“Closer to the end of what?” Ennoshita asks, suspiciously.

“Closer to the end of the world,” Suga whispers.

Daichi whips around to look at him. “Then… you… are you from?”

Suga nods. “Somewhere around here, yes.”

The guard’s smirk broadens.

“Welcome to Date Kougyou,” he says. “The iron city, wonder of wonders, strongest stronghold in the kingdom, blah blah blah. Now, if you don’t mind, we have to arrest you. As you’re intruders, and all.”

“We’re not intruders,” Nishinoya says. “We’re here to save your _lives_.”

Daichi sighs, steps forward. “I’m sorry. My name is Sawamura Daichi, captain of _Karasuno_. We’re not here to intrude on your land or your people, and we’re certainly not here to harm or invade you. I would greatly appreciate it if we would be allowed to speak to your leader.”

The guard crosses his arms over his chest. “Hmm…” he says. “No.”

Daichi reels back. “I – I’m sorry, but I really must insist—”

“I’m kidding,” the guard says. “So uptight, good gracious. I have to take you to Moniwa-san either way. Part of the intruder protocol, you know how it is. Follow me – or, actually, follow Aone. He’s taller.”

Daichi considers, probably for the millionth time, that he’s not getting paid enough for this.

Date Kougyou’s leader – Moniwa-san, Daichi assumes – resides in a surprisingly inauspicious, low building along the outskirts of the town. As they walk towards the building, the smaller guard keeps throwing glances over his shoulder, then leaning over and whispering to the taller one, Aone. It doesn’t sound like Aone says anything back.

When they reach the door, the smaller guard turns around and sticks an arm out.

“All right,” he says. “Captain-san, pick a couple friends and come with me. Aone will babysit the rest of your comrades out here.” Aone nods in confirmation.

Daichi nods and gestures for Ennoshita and Tanaka to follow him. He hesitates, and then nods to Suga, as well.

Hinata makes a quiet, disappointed noise. Kageyama cuffs him over the head and hisses, “Shut up.” Hinata nudges him back and whispers, “You shut up.”

Daichi is tired.

“Ready,” he announces, turning his attention back to the two guards.

The talkative one says, “Fantastic,” and then leads them inside.

The interior is less… silver than Daichi was expecting. It’s actually pretty cozy, well-furnished, a little cluttered. Daichi shifts where he stands. This Moniwa person is probably at least as tall as the other two, just as imposing as the wall, just as pointed as the city he rules over—

Instead, a door opens and a messy-haired man with wide eyes and a kind smile steps through. “Futakuchi-kun,” he says. “What’s this?”

“Guests,” Futakuchi explains. And then he shoots Daichi a sharp look. “They _say_ they’re guests, anyway.”

“We’re actually here to deliver a warning,” Daichi says. “My name is Captain Sawamura, I used to sail for the Royal Guard. Now I captain the ship _Karasuno_. Will you let me explain?”

Moniwa’s eyes widen for a moment, and then he nods.

“Of course,” he says. “Please sit down, Captain.”

It takes awhile to explain. Daichi tries to start from the beginning as much as possible – the ghost ship, the attacks, Nishinoya and Tanaka’s theory that _Seijoh_ ’s targets follow the path of the sun. Tanaka pitches in from time to time, explaining some of the finer details that Daichi doesn’t quite understand.

“If all that’s true,” he finishes. “Your village is next. You don’t need to allow us to stay, but please, increase your guard. Raise defenses. Prepare an evacuation route. Order your men to alert your neighboring villages. I’ve seen firsthand the damage these pirates cause. My _men_ have seen it. You don’t want to be on the wrong end of their swords.”

Moniwa watches him silently for what feels like hours, his hands clasped together in his lap. Daichi and Ennoshita exchange glances, but Daichi isn’t sure what he’s looking for in Ennoshita’s expression. Encouragement, maybe?

He hasn’t felt this nervous in years.

Finally, Moniwa says, “Sawamura-san, you understand that this is pirate country, yes?”

Daichi stiffens. “Yes. I am aware of that.”

Moniwa nods and pushes a hand absently through his hair. “Then you must understand that I’m not in any position to be making those calls.”

_Must I understand that? Really?_

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean.”

Moniwa sighs. “I apologize, let me explain. I am the leader of Date Kougyou, that’s true. For all intents and purposes, anyway. However, this region is controlled completely by pirate bands. If we arm, rival groups will see this as a threat. I’m not willing to put us in danger like that without explicit instruction from the men I report to. Do you see?”

_No,_ Daichi wants to say. _This whole system is fucking weird and this is exactly the kind of anarchic bullshit that happens when you refuse to obey the crown and submit to modern law and order_ —

Instead, he says, “Then is there any way we can speak to the pirate captain that controls the area? I’m sorry to press, but this is imperative.”

Moniwa’s shoulders relax slightly. “Of course. You can wait here for him as long as you like. Please view yourselves as our honored guests.”

“How long will it take for him to show up?” Tanaka asks. “We don’t have all year, now.”

Futakuchi grins. “Oh, don’t worry. If you hang out long enough, you’ll run into him. His ship is pretty difficult to miss.”

“What do you mean?” Ennoshita asks.

“It’s the sails, mostly,” Moniwa says, a little apologetically. “They’re very… red, actually.”

“Red?” Ennoshita repeats. “ _Red_ sails?”

“Yeah.” Futakuchi nods. And then he laughs. “ _Nekoma_ ’s captain’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”

 

Tadashi dreams of the boy again. Of course he does. He dreams of the boy every night. Of hair like feathers built from flame. Of sharp eyes and quick hands and a voice that’s almost-not-quite familiar. A tune Tadashi can’t place.

This time, things are sharper.

They’re on the beach again, ankle-deep in the sands of an island in hell. The boy looks collected. Sunny. Steady. Bright.

Something close to envy smolders low in Tadashi’s belly.

“How are you not afraid?” he demands.

The boy turns to him, his sand-colored eyebrows lifting. “I am,” he answers, surprise coloring his tone. “Of course. But I also know this isn’t real.” He shrugs, smiles quick and sudden, and then says, “Not yet, anyway.”

The dream is fading before Tadashi can ask what he means. For a moment, Tadashi is left in blackness, consumed by shadow, and he is about to scream when his eyes open, and he finds himself in his bunk on the ship.

His clothes are clinging to his body, slick-stained with cold sweat. His hair is falling distractingly into his eyes again. Tadashi takes a second to wrestle it up again before climbing out of his bunk and strapping his pistol to his hip. He checks the barrel for ammo before leaving the barracks and climbing up onto the deck.

_Breathe_ , he reminds himself. _Breathe_.

It’s early morning, almost dawn. Tadashi doesn’t expect anyone else to be awake, but he hears movement in the crow’s nest, uneven clicks and rustling and the sharp sound of footsteps.

“Hello?” Tadashi calls. His fingers close around the handle of his gun. “Who’s there?”

There’s a quiet laugh above him, and then a shape is swinging down from the mast to land, catlike, an arm’s length in front of Tadashi.

“That’s, ‘who’s there, _sir_ ,’ to you,” Kuroo says. He grins down at Tadashi in that rather disarming way he has, and Tadashi has to force himself not to flinch back.

As it is, he freezes, snaps into a salute. “Of course, I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t—”

Kuroo waves a hand. “I’m kidding, Yamaguchi. I was sort of wondering if I’d be seeing you tonight.”

Tadashi blinks up at him for a moment, still trying to decide whether or not to be frightened. His brain seems to have settled on a mixture of anxiety and exasperation. “I don’t mean to pry, but—”

“What was I doing in the crow’s nest at this godawful hour?” Kuroo supplies merrily before clapping a hand on Tadashi’s shoulder. “Good question. Panicking, mostly. But also planning. Some of my best work gets done when I’m doing both.”

“Oh,” Tadashi says.

“Yeah,” Kuroo confirms. He tilts his head up, his eyes following the length of the mast. Tadashi watches him look. “What’s eating you, kid?”

_What’s eating you_?

The image of the redheaded boy floats to the front of Tadashi’s thoughts. He tries to tamp it down.

“I… haven’t been sleeping well,” he confesses.

Kuroo nods. “I know. You haven’t looked this haggard since you enlisted, I figured it must’ve been something like that. And Kai tells me you passed out today.”

“Well, that’s…” Tadashi frowns, directs his gaze to the floor. His face is burning; shame tastes like brine in his mouth. “Yes, sir. But I… think it was the heat. And the lack of sleep. Nothing… bad.”

Kuroo’s staring at him. He can feel them, Kuroo’s eyes. Something very loud and very nasty is growling, in Tadashi’s head, _Nothing bad. Yeah, right. You’re pathetic. Don’t you see? Now the captain knows just how tragic and wretched and pitiful you are. Weak. Now he knows that you’ll never be good enough._

_Nothing, nothing, nothing bad._

Nothing _is right._

“Yamaguchi,” Kuroo says, and his voice is gentler this time. Quieter. “Stay with me, now.”

Tadashi’s head snaps up. Kuroo has taken a few steps forward, his shoulders tilted forward slightly so that he and Tadashi are at eye level.

“Deep breaths,” Kuroo says, and Tadashi realizes with another hot burst of shame that he must’ve been exhibiting visible signs of an oncoming panic attack. “I need you to help me think this through.”

Tadashi stares, shakes his head. Tries to peel off the fear. “Think _what_ through?” he rasps.

“The sea is different than it should be,” Kuroo explains, his eyes serious and steady on Tadashi’s. “Things are changing. The shadows are warping. You’ve noticed it, too.”

It’s not a question.

Tadashi nods, very slowly. “Yes, sir.”

Kuroo sighs, tugs a hand through his hair. “I can’t keep up,” he growls. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to protect my crew. Not from something like this.”

“Captain, you said something,” Tadashi offers. “After the first attacks. You said something about old friends and a fountain. Do you… know what’s causing this?”

Kuroo nods.

“Then… if you know what the problem is, what the _source_ is – can’t we just take whoever it is out? Do you think we would lose? I—”

Kuroo shakes his head and smiles; it looks more like a frown. “It doesn’t matter. We have people we need to keep safe. Towns under our dominion. Lives that are under our protection. I don’t have time to chase after ghosts.”

Tadashi blinks. “ _Ghosts_?”

“That’s what they are, kid.” Kuroo’s jaw grits down and he reaches up to rub at his neck with a hand; his fingers are visibly shaking. “They used to be men, and now they’re ghosts. They are un-alive, and they’re going to take the rest of the world down with them.”

“Then we need to _do_ something,” Tadashi gasps. “ _Anything_! Moniwa and the others can handle our responsibilities on land—”

Kuroo stares at him for a second, eyebrows raised, visibly taken aback. Tadashi belatedly understands that this is probably the loudest he’s ever spoken around Kuroo Tetsurou.

A tiny smile pulls at the corner of Kuroo’s mouth.

“I don’t doubt Moniwa’s strength as a leader. And I don’t doubt the rest of them when it comes to fortitude, either. But the immediate threat has to come first, Yamaguchi. We didn’t take care of those goddamn snakes before we left, and if we let Nohebi take the town, we’re lost. Those _people_ are lost.

“I don’t have time to chase after ghosts,” he repeats, but his voice breaks a little, and Tadashi is struck with a sudden, angry impulse to launch himself off the ship and into the deep, to fight these shadow creatures with his own two hands.

Injury or no injury.

Madness or no madness.

Fear or no fear.

“Okay,” Tadashi decides. “Okay. We go back, we secure our strongholds on the land. But after that – Captain, we need to _do something_. Promise me we’ll do something.”

There is a pulse of silence.

_I overstepped_ , flashes through Tadashi’s mind. _I’ll be kicked off the crew. Banished. Put to the death for insubordination_ —

Kuroo reaches out and claps a hand on Tadashi’s shoulder.

“You have my word,” he says. And then he flashes Tadashi another crooked grin before stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away, headed in the direction of the captain’s quarters.

“Oh,” Tadashi says, in a tone of mild surprise. “Okay.”

Off the port side of the boat, just visible in the predawn haze, an iron wall looms.

 

Shouyou doesn’t really know what he expected when Daichi passed along the grumpy guard’s words. “Hang out long enough and you’ll run into them.” How long is _long enough_? A week, maybe? Two? A couple days, at the very least.

He definitely _wasn’t_ expecting to climb abovedecks at dawn the very next morning only to have his vision clouded, in its entirety, by an enormous set of crimson sails.

_Nekoma_ is one of the prettiest ships Shouyou’s ever seen. She is sleek and mahogany-brown, almost blackish, like _Seijoh_. She isn’t actually all that large – sloping and long, yes, but not large. Not that much flashier than _Karasuno_ , either, except for her sails, which burn like fire across her mast. The brightest shade of red Shouyou’s ever seen.

Like sunrise, or blood.

Shouyou glances over his shoulder to make sure nobody else is up before walking down the gangplank and landing on solid ground. Just like yesterday, land feels weird under his boots. Unsteady, undulating. The _ocean_ felt more stable, the whole time they were sailing.

The docks are empty, deserted except for a couple stray cats and a seabird or two. _Nekoma_ and _Karasuno_ are the only ships docked.

The crowded wharf of the Eastern Port seems improbable, here, like the last years of Shouyou’s life have been fiction, invented inside his head.

A gull calls. The waves whisper against the docks. Next to him, _Nekoma_ ’s hull creaks quietly.

Shouyou creeps a little closer and places his hand against the wood. “Hello?” he calls, hesitantly. “Anyone… home?”

No answer.

“Okay,” he mumbles. _Nekoma_ ’s hull feels a little strange below Shouyou’s palm. Less solid than it should be. There’s a give to the wood – an empty feeling, tugging at Shouyou’s navel – that feels wrong, somehow.

The gangplank has been lowered, a little ways up the dock.

_Huh_ , Shouyou thinks.

And then he’s on board.

_Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea,_ his better judgment is hissing at him. _Bad idea, bad_ idea _, Daichi’s gonna murder you if he finds out about this._

_Daichi doesn’t have to find out,_ his instincts reply, cheerfully.

_Dumbass_ , his better judgment responds, in a voice suspiciously similar to Kageyama. And Kageyama has no place being Shouyou’s better judgment, so Shouyou stops listening and starts focusing on the ship, instead.

The ship’s floorboards sigh underneath Shouyou’s boots.

(Shouyou is so profoundly alive.)

This ship is incredible. Crimson-sailed, black-wooded. A real pirate ship, with _real_ pirates. (Even in Shouyou’s head, Kageyama’s snarl of “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” is pretty intimidating.) Shouyou makes it his mission to explore every inch of the deck he can, running his fingers along the mast, inspecting the intricately-carved door that must lead to the captain’s quarters, nudging at the trapdoor that leads belowdeck, checking out the massive array of cannons. _Everything_.

“Amazing,” he whispers, before remembering himself. And then, “Shit!”

He claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders pulling tight together.

On the other side of the deck, toward the helm, someone clears their throat.

Shouyou turns around slowly.

_Oh, no_ , he’s thinking. _Oh, no, oh, no, oh,_ no—

He creeps around the mast so that his view is unobstructed. There’s a person sitting on the steps leading up to the helm. Around Shouyou’s age, with a strange mop of shoulder-length hair, stained blond toward the tips by what might be the sun. He’s wearing all black, a sword strapped around his waist, his hair pulled off of his face by an incredibly red bandana.

“Hi,” Shouyou blurts. And then he slaps his hands back over his mouth.

“Hello,” the pirate says back.

_Say something_.

“I’m sorry,” Shouyou says, and then he immediately regrets saying anything at all. “That is! I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was on board – I’m super sorry for disturbing you, I’ll go now—”

“Who are you?” the boy says. His expression hasn’t changed at all since Shouyou started babbling. His eyes are sharp and almost golden. Catlike.

Shouyou wants to leave his body and ascend.

“I’m just – I’m with the Royal… well, no, not anymore, actually, so I guess I’m just a sailor? But I’m on _Karasuno_ ’s crew and basically we’re here to find this ghost ship and Moniwa-san said you could help us? Assuming that you… sail for _Nekoma_? I’m—”

And now there is something icy cold biting at Shouyou’s throat, pressed up against his skin, and a low, quiet voice humming, behind him, “And who might we have here? Did you pick up a stray, Kenma?”

Shouyou screams between clenched teeth before he can help himself.

_Sword_ , he thinks, decidedly unhelpfully. _Sword sword sword sword_ —

The blond boy, Kenma, says, “He says he’s with _Karasuno_ , Kuro.”

The man behind Shouyou – Kuro? What the heck kind of name is that? – scoffs. “And what proof do we have of that? He could be with Nohebi. I think we might just have to—”

And then there are footsteps, the susurration of a sword leaving a sheath, and Kageyama’s voice, low and dangerous and so so so beautiful Shouyou might cry.

“Don’t touch him.”

Kuro’s voice says, “Oho?” and then the sword is gone, and Shouyou is whipping around and sprinting blindly to Kageyama’s side, rubbing at the line on his throat where the sword had been touching.

Kageyama looks angry – under-eye circles, mussed hair, furious scowl, burning eyes. “You were gone,” he hisses, shooting Shouyou a glare that makes Shouyou’s blood freeze in his veins. “I woke up and you were _gone_ , do you know how worried I was, you fucking _dumbass_ —”

_Worried_.

Oh.

Shouyou reaches out and touches Kageyama’s arm wordlessly. Kageyama stares back for a second, looking baffled and flustered and maybe a little gentle – Shouyou will not allow himself to hope – before returning his gaze to the pirates.

Kuro is… pretty terrifying-looking, actually. He’s enormously tall and his hair is impossibly black and absolutely nonsensical, even more so than Shouyou’s. He’s decked out in captain’s garb, too, with a rich, crimson jacket that sweeps around his knees and a sword with a hilt that looks like it’s made from pure gold. It’s his face that’s scary, though – subtly handsome, sharply watchful. Intelligent eyes. Dangerous smile.

His eyes land on Kageyama. Scrape up and down his body.

(Shouyou’s body burns with a sudden, weird protective impulse. To step in front of Kageyama again, block him from view.)

And then.

“Well, well,” Kuro says, drawing back in surprise. He lowers his sword, exchanges glances with Kenma.

Smiles.

“If it isn’t the king himself. Kageyama, long time no see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never loved anyone like I love Kuroo Tetsurou this is an Actual Scientific Fact


	10. impulse and momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of a glaring and a murder.

There are a lot of ways Shouyou imagined this meeting going.

 _Nekoma_ ’s captain maybe isn’t _exactly_ what he’d had in mind. Kuro – he’s still having trouble taking the name seriously, even in his own head – is a little less gargantuan and a little more… spikey than he had pictured, but his aura is just about what Shouyou had imagined from a pirate captain. Kenma also fits the bill of a member of a pirate crew, quiet and sharp-eyed and feline.

Shouyou would not, however, have put money on the phrase, “Kageyama, long time no see,” being spoken during this conversation. Under any circumstances. At all. And he _definitely_ wouldn’t have bet on, “You know, when you disappeared this spring, we sorta figured you were dead,” being the follow up, either.

Kuro says it conversationally, a tilt to his head and a hand propped on his hip, but there’s something slow and serious about the way he’s looking at Kageyama. Almost appraising, like he’s not sure how Kageyama will react.

“Oh,” Kageyama says. His back perfectly straight, his eyes wide and surprised. He glances at Shouyou for half a second before adding, “Oh, well. I’m… not.”

This is apparently not the reaction Kuro had been expecting.

“Right,” Kuro says, sounding a little dumbfounded. “I can see that. Although, to be fair, it’s becoming a little difficult to tell the difference between what looks living and what looks dead.”

Kenma makes a soft sound of disapproval.

Kuro sighs. “Sorry, sorry. I know.” He pushes a hand through his hair, looking abruptly exhausted. “Look, Kageyama, I don’t know what your business is here, but—”

“We came to warn you,” Kageyama says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence. “We wanted to—”

“ _We_ ,” Kuro echoes. “Interesting. And here I was, laboring under the impression that the king _worked alone_.” His eyes leave Kageyama, scrape along Shouyou’s face. Shouyou’s fingers twitch, curl into the soft fabric at the hem of Kageyama’s shirt, before he can smother the impulse. In response, Kageyama shifts his body ever-so-slightly in between Shouyou and the pirates.

“Who’s this?” Kuro finishes, his lips curling into a smile.

Shouyou says, “My name is Ensign Hinata Shouyou, Royal Navy Squadron 61!” before it occurs to him that maybe Kuro was asking less about _him_ and more about _them_.

The thought makes Shouyou’s skin itch oddly, so he tries not to pursue it.

Kuro says, “Ah,” his voice heavy with mirth. And then he shifts his gaze back to Kageyama. “A member of the _Royal Guard_? Do you make it a habit of travelling around with men who could put you behind bars?”

Kageyama scowls. “That’s… it’s not…”

Shouyou shrugs. “We already put him behind bars once. It didn’t last very long, though. He’s more useful out here.”

Kageyama glares at him. “Oi.”

“What? It’s true.”

Kuro snorts, stepping forward and offering Shouyou an outstretched hand. Shouyou takes it after a split-second of hesitation. “Captain Kuroo Tetsurou,” he says. “And this is Kozume Kenma, my—”

“Advisor,” Kenma supplies, and Kuroo Tetsurou laughs, honest and bright. It’s maybe the first sound Shouyou’s heard him make that isn’t leaden with ulterior motive.

“—Better half,” Kuroo finishes, with a quick grin in Kenma’s direction. Kenma rolls his eyes.

"It's nice to meet you,” Shouyou says, trying to sound unfazed. Smooth. Collected. Like Sugawara, or something.

It doesn’t work.

Kuroo claps a hand on his shoulder. “A pleasure. Welcome aboard my ship.”

Shouyou nods enthusiastically. “ _Nekoma_ is _incredible_ ,” he says. “She’s so – so _gwah_ , and, and – the sails are _so_ cool—”

Kuroo’s eyes light up. “ _Right_? I said so, too! Didn’t I say so, Kenma? Kenma says they’re lame and gaudy.”

“Because they _are_ lame and gaudy,” Kenma grumbles.

“They’re _unique_! And interesting! They reflect the spirit of this ship and her crew—”

Kageyama clears his throat. Kuroo deflates slightly.

“Right. Well. It’s nice to see you again, Kageyama, but I imagine I’m correct in presuming that you’re not here to reminisce?”

Kageyama nods. His shoulders are still very tense, which nags at Shouyou – Kenma and Kuroo are a little odd, yeah, but Kuroo’s defensive stance has completely relaxed, and Kenma was never in one in the first place. There’s no reason for Kageyama to be afraid right now, but Shouyou can feel his fear.

Kageyama launches into an explanation of why they’re here, beginning with a huff of, “Oikawa-san is an idiot.” As he talks, Shouyou’s fingers flatten against Kageyama’s back, less of a grip and more of a press.

 _I’m here_ , he thinks, in Kageyama’s general direction.

In between sentences, Kageyama takes a slow breath and some of the tension leaves his back.

When Kageyama’s done, Kuroo nods, pressing his eyes shut and reaching up to rub his neck. “So, basically, Oikawa tried to use the Fountain, created a tear in the Nether, and the monsters from another world are passing into ours. And now he’s going from town to town to try and find a source of energy great enough to fix what he’s fucked. Did I miss anything?”

“No,” Kageyama says.

“So all this would imply that the monsters are going to keep getting worse.”

Kageyama winces. “Right.”

Kuroo groans. “Fantastic,” he drawls. “Fan-fucking-tastic. _Wait_ until we tell Tadashi that the thing that almost killed him isn’t even from this dimension! Oh, he’ll love this.”

“He’ll panic,” Kenma says, flatly.

“I _know_ he’ll panic.” Kuroo rubs his temples. “Maybe we could get someone else to tell him. I bet Lev would do it.”

Kenma’s face contorts into a surprisingly expressive grimace.

Kuroo says, “I know,” before turning his attention back to Shouyou. “Look, to be honest? I’m not particularly surprised by any of this. We’ve already experienced a lot of this… weirdness firsthand. What I _am_ surprised about is the fact that Ushiwaka would send a battalion of the kingdom’s finest to defend a city he’s shown exactly _zero_ interest in in the past.”

“Oh,” Shouyou says. He shifts from foot to foot, heat rising in his cheeks. “Well, this isn’t… a crown-sanctioned mission, exactly. We sort of—”

“You went rogue,” Kuroo says, in a tone of intense awe.

“Um,” Shouyou says. “Yes.”

“You went rogue,” Kuroo says, “risking your lives, and the lives of everyone on your crew, for the chance to save a town full of people you’ve never even met?”

“Yes,” Shouyou says. More confidently, this time.

Kuroo lets out a long, low whistle. “Well, all right, then.” He flashes a smirk at Kageyama. “I think I understand, now, Tobio.”

“ _I_ don’t,” Kenma says, flatly. “You should get out while you can.”

The amusement on Kuroo’s face fades. Shouyou’s smile does, too.

“I… I don’t think I…” Shouyou stammers.

“This isn’t your fight,” Kenma says. His voice is calm, inflectionless, but the words still cut Shouyou down to the quick. “You and your crew don’t need to put your lives in danger to defend Date Kougyou. If the iron wall doesn’t hold, your swords won’t help.”

“Kenma,” Kuroo begins, but Kenma shakes his head.

“Let me finish,” he says. His eyes land heavy on Shouyou’s. Burning. “We’ll handle ourselves and our crew. You don’t need to be a hero, so don’t. It’ll only get you killed.”

And then he sighs, crosses his arms, and slumps against the mast, like the speech took a lot out of him. Maybe it had.

Shouyou can’t breathe.

_You don’t need to be a hero, so don’t._

_Your swords won’t help._

_This isn’t your fight_.

No.

He can’t leave now. He can’t go back – can’t go back to the palace, to his position in the navy, to his sister, to _banality_. It had never once occurred to him – never once crossed his mind – that his help might not be _wanted_. Might not be _needed_.

It has been a long time since Shouyou has remembered his own size.

“I,” Shouyou begins, and his voice is so, so small.

“You’re wrong.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows shoot upwards. Kenma reacts less dramatically, but his gaze does shift to Kageyama, those appraising eyes landing on Kageyama’s face, instead.

“It _is_ his fight,” Kageyama continues, his discomfort at the sudden attention obvious on his face. “He has more right to it than any of us, maybe. Oikawa destroyed his home.”

Kenma’s expression doesn’t change, but something does soften in his eyes.

“I’m already involved,” Shouyou manages. He sways, just ever-so-slightly; Kageyama’s arm brushes against his, like an anchor. “I’ve been involved since I was thirteen, since…”

 _Since the first time I looked into Kageyama’s eyes_.

 _Shit. Fuck. Do not say that out loud. Do_ not _say that out loud._

“Since the first time I had a dream that wasn’t a dream,” he finishes, quiet.

He feels Kageyama’s intake of breath, even though it is minute, infinitesimal. Shouyou tries very, very hard not to look at him.

Kuroo looks between them, back and forth, for a heartbeat. Then he nods and says, “All right. I’ve heard enough. Kenma, when the crew gets back, please fill them in. Shrimpy, king, follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Kageyama asks, suspicion painted in his tone.

“We’re going to see a man,” Kuroo answers, “about a wall.”

 

Asahi has a bad feeling about this.

Okay, to be fair, Asahi has a bad feeling about most everything. But Date Kougyou’s iron wall makes him feel like he’s standing on the fringes of a war zone, and _Nekoma_ ’s crimson sails really aren’t helping.

“It’s like they’re _everywhere_ ,” he says to Suga, miserably, when he turns around on _Karasuno_ ’s deck only to find his vision entirely obstructed by _Nekoma_ ’s sails. “No matter where I go, I can see them. Even on the other side of the _wall_ , I can see them.”

Suga smiles beatifically and claps Asahi on the shoulder. “Think about it this way,” he chirps. “At least you didn’t have to see them until today. I’ve been seeing them for months!”

Asahi frowns. Suga pokes him on the nose.

“Stop pouting, you’ll get wrinkles. Do you want _wrinkles_ in your _twenties_ , Asahi?”

“I feel like we have bigger things to worry about than wrinkles right now.”

“See? There you go. That’s exactly why you’re gonna get wrinkles!” Suga throws his hands up into the air. “Negativity!”

Asahi sighs and Suga grabs him around the neck and starts rubbing his knuckles rather viciously against Asahi’s skull.

“Okay,” Asahi wheezes, “okay, okay, okay, I’ll lighten up! Please get off!”

Suga laughs and releases him, and Asahi leans back to catch his breath and watch the sun turn Suga’s hair to starlight, to diamonddust.

Sailing suits Suga, Asahi thinks. His skin has taken on a warm tan, his smile comes easier, his laugh comes lighter. _Freedom_ suits Suga, Asahi thinks. Movement, change. Being surrounded by people and ideas and thoughts and _time_. Time, time, time, always time. Even when they were kids, Suga revolved around time. Or maybe time revolved around Suga. Sometimes, it was hard to tell.

Sometimes, it still is.

“You’re overthinking again,” Suga accuses, his voice somehow both affectionate and serrated. “I see you retreating into that head of yours. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out, you big softie.”

 _You most certainly_ cannot _tell him you were reflecting on the nature of your friendship and history as a whole. Dear lord, he would_ eviscerate _you_.

“Um,” Asahi says. “The iron wall?”

Suga’s eyes open wider. Asahi wants to punch himself – fabulous, pick a topic the man is _interested_ in. That will put the conversation to bed.

“What about the wall?” Suga says, curiously.

 _Goddamn it_.

“I…” Asahi attempts. “Well. I don’t really understand how that… thing the guard did works. I know they said it was because we’re close to the Nether, but…”

Suga nods. “Do you know what the Nether is, Asahi?”

Asahi winces. “I… guess not, no.”

“Don’t worry, most people don’t. You know when you use one pair of trousers really frequently and the fabric gets worn thin at the knees? Sometimes thin enough that you can almost see through it?”

Asahi nods.

“The Nether is, essentially, the fabric worn thin at the knees. It’s a weakening between worlds.”

Asahi blinks. “So… there are… other realities?”

Suga tilts his head from side to side. “Sort of. It’s really more like layers. Different subsets of reality, of things that exist in this world and things that do not, all pressed one on top of another on top of another. The Nether is a place where the fabric that separates them is fragile and insubstantial. People living near it end up with some… unintended side effects.”

Asahi nods. “Like your Sight.”

Suga beams at him. “Exactly! Like my Sight.”

“So…” Asahi shakes his head, a thousand questions pounding on his head. “Is there a me, in another universe? Does Other-Me know you? Do I know—” _Noya_ , his mind supplies. _Shut up_ , Asahi answers.

Suga looks at Asahi like he _knows_.

“Not exactly,” Suga says. “Or maybe exactly. I don’t know. It’s… hard, sometimes. To draw lines between what’s there and what’s here. I… it would be easier to show you, I think.”

Asahi winces. The last time Suga projected, showed Asahi what he Sees, it had been painful. Nauseating. A thousand things Asahi feared and a million he longed for, all wrapped up into one burst of color and sound.

“You don’t have to,” Suga says, gently.

“No,” Asahi says, surprisingly fiercely. “No, I want you to show me. Please.”

Surprise crosses Suga’s face, but he extends his wrist anyway, where the familiar pattern of glowing gears rests across the skin. Asahi takes a deep breath and reaches out, brushing his fingertips against the mark.

The effect is instantaneous.

It is nothing, and it is everything. It is the entirety of the cosmos, spiraling past Asahi’s face. Ships and the morning sky and a fire and Suga’s face. Asahi is unmoored, unmanned. There is nothing but emptiness below his feet, nothing but everything and anything and the turn of time itself. He sees the beginning of the universe and the end. He hears Tanaka’s laugh, he sees Noya’s eyes, he sees Noya’s hands, small and delicate and knobby and beautiful, pressed between his own. He hears Noya’s voice, pressed against the hollow below his chin, whispering _Asahi_.

He sees shadow and nightmares and the darkness at the end of the world—

And he keeps falling.

He is standing on a street, watching an entire city be consumed by an enormous wave of shadow. Like a tsunami. Enormous and creeping and cloying, eating away at everything and anything unlucky enough to be swept in its wake. Buildings collapse around him, shaking the earth, shaking Asahi, down to his very bones. People are running, screaming, sobbing. Fear stinks in the air like a pestilence. Like death.

Everything the shadow touches disappears into blackness.

Asahi is running. He is standing, but he is also running. Running, clutching the hand of a boy he knows he must save. A boy who is more important than him, more important than life, more important than all the stars in the sky he will never see again.

“Run!” he screams, but it is not his voice that is screaming.

The boy’s hand is ripped from his as he goes down.

“No,” he gasps. “No, please—”

“It’s okay,” the boy informs him. So calm, always so calm. Even in death. His eyes so bright, his face so lovely. His voice so kind. “Are you listening? It’s okay. I’ve never been afraid of the dark.”

The shadows take him.

Asahi’s reaction is visceral. As earth-shattering as the wave of darkness, at least. He is blackness, he is nighttime, he is fire and ice and every violent impulse in the universe contained into one. He is screaming, “ _No! No, I won’t let you take him! I won’t fucking let you have him! No, no, please, God, no._ ”

He is broken. He is shattered.

He is already dead. Alive, but already dead.

Shadow envelops him. It explodes around him, frothing and churning, like a wave.

His wrist lights. His eyes open.

Golden in the darkness.

Asahi yanks his fingers away from Suga’s wrist.

Suga is pale, clutching his wrist to his chest, his breath coming heavy and horrified. There’s something burning on Asahi’s cheek; he reaches up and finds that it is tears, tracing trails down the line of his face.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Suga says, lowly.

Asahi takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Is it supposed to be like that?” he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper.

He doesn’t mean the vision, and Suga knows it.

“Love,” Suga says, and his voice is a sob, “is not supposed to be torture.”

 

They wait outside, sitting with their backs pressed against the exterior wall, while Kuroo talks to Moniwa. A little of Kageyama’s tension has drained, but Shouyou can still feel his nervous energy, radiating off him in waves.

He nudges him in the side. “What’s your problem? Communication is key, Kageyama-kun.”

Kageyama scowls at him. “I don’t like this,” he mutters.

“He’s _your_ friend,” Shouyou points out, reasonably.

Kageyama sniffs. “Kuroo isn’t my friend.”

“He acted like your friend.”

“Well, he isn’t.” Kageyama’s tone is short, final, and Shouyou _knows_ he should leave it there. Let him be grumpy if he wants to be grumpy. Let him mope if he wants to mope.

Instead he prods, “How do you know him, then? If he’s not your friend?”

Kageyama glares at him. Shouyou bats his eyes as innocently as he can manage in response.

Gruffly, Kageyama mutters, “Fine, but stop looking at me like that,” and reaches out to squeeze Shouyou’s face in his hand. It’s not very aggressive, though, and the touch ends up leaving Shouyou’s cheeks feeling oddly warm.

“Kuroo,” Kageyama says, his hand dropping to his side, “took me in for awhile. Showed me the best places to score money off travellers or gangs, before I was… you know. The king. He was friends with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, back before they. Well. But he never… he never judged me for being a traitor. He never made me feel like I was wrong.”

“So he _was_ your friend,” Shouyou says.

Kageyama takes in a quiet, unsteady breath through his nose, his jaw gritted down hard. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know. After _Seijoh_ cast me out, I had… no one. I had nowhere to go. Kuroo was the only one who was kind to me. But I was never… I don’t know. I wasn’t kind back.”

Shouyou nods because he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“Kuroo was my friend,” Kageyama finishes. “But I don’t know if I was his.”

“Oh,” Shouyou breathes.

“Yeah.” Kageyama clutches his hands together in his lap. Shouyou’s eyes follow the movement. He’s always liked Kageyama’s hands. Long and graceful and petal-pale, blue veins criss-crossing through the skin.

He thinks he might like to kiss them.

“It’s my fault,” Shouyou says, fiercely.

“What?” Kageyama’s head snaps up. “What are you talking about?”

Shouyou presses his hand flat against his own chest. “It’s my fault _Seijoh_ kicked you out. It’s my fault you were alone. If it wasn’t for me—”

Kageyama’s eyes flash and he sits up, his shoulders snapping straight. “It’s _not_ your fault. Saving you was my choice.”

“It was a stupid choice, then,” Shouyou says, and he understands that he is crying, which is preposterous. The notion of crying _twice_ in front of Kageyama. Absurd. “I ruined your life.”

Kageyama’s hand closes on Shouyou’s shoulder and he says, all in a rush, forceful and rough, “You _saved_ my life, you _idiot_.”

Shouyou blinks. “I… What?”

“I…” Kageyama’s teeth grit down, his knuckles stretched pale against the porcelain of his pretty, pretty hands. “I didn’t have anything to live for anymore. And you—”

Shouyou is not breathing. The feeling in his chest is unbelievable. Effervescent. Every star in the night sky burning as one. Galaxies, inside his chest.

“I gave you something to live for?” Shouyou rasps.

Kageyama’s face flushes crimson. Shouyou cannot stop looking, cannot tear his eyes away from the slope of Kageyama’s nose or the marble line of his jaw or the blooming pink of his lips or the stormcloud-blue of his fathoms-deep eyes.

 _I love him_ , Shouyou thinks, properly, for the first time.

And then he blinks, and realizes that he has drifted, absently pulled into Kageyama like a wave on the sea. They sit inches apart, Kageyama’s eyes wide and maybe frightened and maybe _wanting_ , his breath warm and shuddering against Shouyou’s cheek.

 _You saved my life_.

Kageyama’s eyelashes flutter, his gaze dropping down Shouyou’s face.

Landing on Shouyou’s mouth.

“I,” Kageyama whispers.

Shouyou’s heart is a wild thing, a living thing, pounding furiously inside his throat. His waist aches with the ghost of Kageyama’s fingers, how he imagines they would feel, pulling them together, pressing them close.

It hurts, Shouyou realizes, with something like desperation. It _aches_ , the wanting.

So he stops wanting and starts moving, letting his eyes fall shut and his hand float upwards, fingertips just barely brushing Kageyama’s jaw—

Kuroo clears his throat, behind them.

Shouyou squeaks and reels backward, Kageyama whipping his head around to face away from Shouyou, out towards the wall. His neck is flushed the same color as _Nekoma_ ’s sails, the same color as Kuroo’s jacket.

“Am I interrupting something?” Kuroo asks, with the tone of someone who knows quite well that they are, in fact, interrupting something.

“No,” Kageyama says, shooting to his feet. “Let’s go.”

And then they are sweeping off, leaving Shouyou still sitting with his back pressed against Moniwa’s house, his electric heart thrumming hummingbird fast inside his chest.

 

It is during that afternoon that Yamaguchi Tadashi’s world is tipped on its axis for what feels like the millionth time in the past two weeks.

The catalyst: a crown of orange hair, stepping aboard _Nekoma_ , along with the rest of _Karasuno_ ’s crew. A slight build, an open expression. The boy from Tadashi’s dreams looks exactly, precisely as he does when Tadashi is unconscious. Exactly as Tadashi expected him to look in real life… if he even existed in real life. Which, Tadashi supposes, he must.

He seems a little more… preoccupied, maybe, than he usually appears in dreams. His eyes lowered, his cheeks flushed a little red. But when a pretty blond girl from his crew leans over and says something, he turns to her and laughs brightly, and, oh, yes, that’s him all right.

Tadashi thinks he would know that smile anywhere. It’s the kind of smile that sticks with you.

Dream-boy is turning now. His body moving to face Tadashi.

 _Oh_ , _no._

 _Oh, wait, no_.

He’s not ready. He’s not ready to face the reality of his own madness, the boy who’s seen inside Tadashi’s mind. He doesn’t know what he’ll say to him. He doesn’t know if the boy will even recognize him at all.

 _It’s fine_ , he promises himself. _Step forward, introduce yourself. Everyone else is_.

“Okay,” Tadashi whispers to himself. “Okay, you can do this. One, two—”

“Yamaguchi?”

Time stops.

The earth stops.

Space and the universe and the cosmos tumble away beneath Tadashi’s feet.

Because he knows this voice. God, of course he knows this voice. He doesn’t think he’ll ever, ever be able to forget it. He thinks he will live with this voice trapped inside his memory for the rest of eternity, whether he is dead or alive, both blessed and cursed to hear it every time it is quiet. Every time he is at peace.

Tadashi turns, slowly, away from the boy made from the sun. His eyes catching, instead, on the face of one made from the moon.

“Tsukki,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is......, the gayest thing..... i have ever written........ .. .


	11. those for whom we weep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beginning, a middle, and an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi, hello! There is some very vague sexy stuff in this chapter (new rating, whooo). So if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable, skip from, "That night, Shouyou dreams," to, "He dissolves."

“I thought,” Kei says, his voice flat, “you were dead.”

He’s taller than he used to be, Tadashi thinks. Stronger-looking, too – more muscular in the shoulders, chest, arms, thighs. His hair is stained white-blond by the sun, and Tadashi can see twists of black tattoos curling out from beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He’s different, different. It’s frightening, and a little bit heartbreaking. Tadashi can’t remember the last time he’s looked at Tsukishima Kei and seen a stranger.

His face, though.

His face looks exactly the way it did when Tadashi left.

Kei’s eyes have always been startling. Oddly yellow-tinted and beautifully bright, they fit strangely against the rest of him; his eyes are a hint of something unreasonable juxtaposed against the stark _reasonableness_ Kei has always emanated. His mouth is downturned in a familiar frown, his light eyebrows pushing together in the center. There’s a tiny, barely-there dusting of freckles across his nose.

 _Nothing’s changed_ , Tadashi thinks, but that’s wrong, because everything has.

“Tsukki,” he says, and his voice breaks. Usually, he would be embarrassed, but right now, he doesn’t care. “Tsukki, _Kei_ , listen to me, let me explain—”

Kei’s eyebrows lift and he rears back slightly. “ _Explain_ ,” he repeats, and his voice breaks high, dripping with derision. “How could you possibly?”

“I had to go,” Tadashi says, and it is the truth. He had to go. Tadashi knows that for himself, for his own sake, he had to.

“All right,” Kei answers. Smooth, easy. An undercurrent of anger running below his voice. “You had to go. And I guess you also _had to_ leave without a goodbye, without warning me, without telling me you were all right—”

 _Without asking me to come_ , is what he doesn’t say.

 _Without asking me to come_ , is what they both hear.

“I’m sorry,” Tadashi says, but it’s weak, and not nearly enough, and Tadashi thinks that Kei knows it, too.

“I mourned you,” Kei responds.

And then they are standing there, staring at each other, onboard a ship Tadashi has hidden on for most of his adult life. Amid people among whom Tadashi has tucked himself away. _Nekoma_ has always been a coping mechanism. She is an escape that has allowed Tadashi to keep from facing the responsibilities he abandoned, or looking into the faces of the people he’d left.

He knows that.

He knows it.

(He has always been good at knowing what to fix, when the thing that needs fixing is not him.)

“Yamaguchi?”

Inuoka is at his elbow now, stepping forward to stare at Kei with an expression that reads like a challenge. Tadashi feels a hot jab of guilt at the flood of relief that washes over him at the sight of Inuoka’s face, the familiarity of his kindness, the certainty of his support.

 _I mourned_ _you_ , rings in Tadashi’s head.

“What’s going on? Do you need help?” Inuoka asks, his eyes narrowing a little in worry as he studies the expression on Tadashi’s face.

Tadashi shakes his head. “N–no, I’m okay. We were just—”

“Nothing,” Kei says, his voice sharp. “I’m going.”

“No, wait… Kei, don’t, _please_ —”

But then he is gone, swallowed up into the crowd formed by _Karasuno_ and _Nekoma_ ’s mingling crews. Tadashi watches the crown of his head, traces his path as he winds his way to the very edge of the crowd, right beside the gangplank. Within seconds, there’s a flash of orange hair by his side, plus the blond girl that dream-boy had been talking to earlier.

Tadashi looks away, his throat aching like he’s been punched.

“You sure you’re okay?” Inuoka asks.

Tadashi nods, probably too aggressively. He can’t really blame Inuoka for looking worried. Honestly, he highly doubts he _looks_ okay. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

So. Kei’s here, then.

(Kei is _here_ , right in front of him, still golden-eyed and blond-haired and startling and _luminous_ , like a comet.)

Kei’s here.

All right, that’s fine. He can take that in stride. No need to freak out. Everything is totally fine.

Tadashi’s eyes scrape close to Kei again and he winces violently. There’s tightness in his chest, the heavy heartbeat and sweaty palms that usually accompany an oncoming panic attack, but Tadashi forces it down. Fights it back. Battles himself away from the edge as best he can.

Inuoka is staring at him, opening and closing his mouth like he’s trying to decide whether or not to say something. Then, up at the helm, Kuroo shouts, “ _Oi! Over here!_ ” and Inuoka reluctantly turns his attention away from Tadashi and up towards the front.

Tadashi breathes.

The man that steps up next to Kuroo is wearing the sleek, black sailing coat of the Royal Guard, trimmed in white, lined with an array of ribbons and medals that looks extensive even from where Tadashi is standing. He looks startlingly _normal_ shoulder-to-shoulder with Kuroo, his hair short-cropped and brown, face plain but handsome, expression open and kind. Beside him, Kuroo looks every bit the part of a pirate captain. Sweeping crimson coat, feathered hat, weapons strapped to his hips, his thigh, his boot.

They both open their mouths to speak at the same time. _Karasuno_ ’s captain blinks in surprise, looking a little confused about how to proceed. Kuroo’s smile becomes one of his more dangerous grins and he bows _Karasuno_ ’s captain forward with a flourish.

“Okay,” _Karasuno_ ’s captain says, still looking a little off-put. “My name is Sawamura Daichi. I am a former captain of the Royal Navy, squadron 61, and the current captain of the ship _Karasuno_. Thank you for your hospitality and welcome.”

There’s a smattering of light applause, mostly from Sawamura’s own crew, though Lev does clap probably more enthusiastically than the situation warrants.

“I won’t go over all the details of why we’re here,” Sawamura continues. “Mostly because both we all already know. The problem is, each of our crews has been looking at one only side of the coin. Now we need to look at both.”

Someone in the crowd raises their hand. Sawamura looks at them and sighs.

“Yes, Noya-san.”

“What,” Noya-san says, cheerfully, “the actual fuck does that mean?”

Sawamura visibly cringes but shakes it off rather admirably. “We all know about the threat _Seijoh_ poses,” he explains, patiently. “They’ve been raiding cities for a decade now, leaving a path of destruction in their wake. They need to be stopped before anyone else gets hurt. That’s obvious.”

There’s a stirring of movement, heads turning in Kei’s direction. It takes a second for Tadashi to realize that they’re looking at the orange boy from his dreams. His cheeks have gone a little pink and he seems to have shrunk slightly under the attention. Kei’s expression stays deadpan, but he angles his body almost imperceptibly to be between the orange boy and the crowd.

Tadashi stares.

“Apparently, though,” Sawamura is continuing, “that isn’t the only problem. When Oikawa tried to use the fountain, he caused a—a—”

“A weakening of the Nether,” another voice pipes up, helpfully. This time it’s an ashy-haired man in one of the front rows. Sawamura looks at him gratefully.

“A weakening of the Nether,” Sawamura echoes. “Exactly. And it’s causing… changes. Monsters. Shadowed seas. Wounds that won’t heal.”

This time, the motion of heads is towards Tadashi. The blackened mark on his ankle itches.

Kuroo steps forward. Sawamura inclines his head respectfully and moves back to let him talk.

Kuroo props his hands on his hips and stares at them. “So. Here’s the plan. We secure the mainland, keep an eye on things, and prep for an attack. I’m told you at _Karasuno_ have some competent healers, so I want you to take a look at Yamaguchi. In the meantime, we’ll tell you what we know and what we’ve seen.”

“In the meantime,” Yaku echoes loudly. “What are we waiting for, Captain?”

Kuroo’s smile goes lopsided. “We’re going to let _Seijoh_ come to us,” he purrs. “And when they do, we’ll be ready.”

There’s a long beat of silence, and Tadashi thinks maybe they’ll disperse – maybe he can run after Kei, try and catch him, try to _explain_ —

“Fine,” Yaku says. “We wait for an ambush. Sounds great. And what about the King?”

Tadashi makes a soft sound of confusion, convinced for a moment that Yaku’s talking about Ushijima. And then there’s a cough, a burst of whispering, a flurry of shuffling steps and sidelong gazes. The crowd parts to reveal a tall, dark-haired boy with a heavy scowl and dangerous eyes. He’s wearing simple clothing that matches the rest of _Karasuno_ ’s crew, but his is darker and more worn.

The letter _p_ is branded on his chest, disappearing below the neckline of his shirt. Tadashi shivers before he can help himself.

“What _about_ me?” the boy asks.

His voice is low and threatening. _Frightening_.

God, what Tadashi would give for _one_ day without something to stress over.

Yaku sighs, scrubs a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing personal, Kageyama. It’s just that last time we let you in, you spent the whole time trying to figure out ways to win Oikawa-san’s favor back. Including selling us out.”

The dark-haired boy – the King? Kageyama? – flushes red high in his cheekbones. His gaze drops to the floor. “I know,” he mutters. “I was trying to—”

“What you were trying to do is irrelevant,” First Mate Kai points out, but his tone is gentle. “The question is, can we trust you?”

“You don’t need to trust me,” Kageyama says, a little petulently. “You just need to fight alongside me until this is over.”

“And can we do that?” Kai asks. His face is serious, his eyes thoughtful.

Kageyama seems to fold in a little on himself, and he suddenly seems a little less frightening and a lot more _small_. The possibility dawns on Tadashi that the title – the honor – of _king_ might be ironic. Maybe even cruel.

“I,” the King says.

“ _Jeez_ , Kageyama-kun, you seriously did manage to piss off the entire kingdom.”

Tadashi jumps a little. For a second, hearing dream-boy’s voice _outside_ of a dream is violently disconcerting, to the point of dizziness. But then Kageyama is narrowing his eyes in the direction of the orange head of hair, his expression melting from frustration and fear into something that’s a little bit exasperation and a little bit _not_. The vertigo passes.

“Hinata, you don’t need to do this again,” the blond-haired girl begins, gently, but Hinata just pats her on the shoulder. It isn’t quite clear who he’s reassuring.

“Listen,” he says, very loudly, lifting himself up on his tiptoes to meet Kuroo’s gaze. His voice wavers, but the determination on his face doesn’t. He almost looks _annoyed_. “Our crew has had this debate, like, two or three times now, probably. Kageyama’s been travelling with us for weeks, and he hasn’t tried to screw us over yet. Not even once. Right, Yachi?”

He turns to the blond girl. The blond girl nods, a little trepidatious but immediate.

“That’s true,” she confirms.

Hinata nods and swivels back around towards Kuroo. “I don’t know how many times you want Kageyama to… to _prove_ _himself,_ or whatever,” he continues hotly. “He saved my life. I trust him. And he’s only an asshole, like, seventy percent of the time.”

“More like one hundred percent of the time, but all right,” Kei mumbles. Hinata shoots him an annoyed look. Kei smirks a little back at him.

Tadashi is floored.

“Okay, eighty-five percent of the time,” Hinata amends. Kageyama opens his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed, but Hinata plows over him. “So that leaves fifteen percent of the time that he’s being… helpful, and – and _nice_ , or whatever, right? And, okay, look, I know I’m not saying this right, but – we all have shitty pasts, don’t we? And we’ve all made shitty choices. But we can’t be _better_ if we’re never allowed to move past them.”

There is another, this time several degrees more stunned, silence. Hinata looks like he wants to descend through the floor. Kageyama’s face has turned alarmingly pink.

Then Sawamura chuckles a little bit and says, “Thank you, Hinata,” in a tone that’s really just disgustingly proud, and a tiny man with gravity-defying hair slaps his hand on Hinata’s upper back, and the meeting moves on.

Kageyama doesn’t, though.

Tadashi sees the way his eyes stay locked on Hinata’s face. Fierce and fond. Like he’s been trapped in the darkness his whole life and is only just now seeing the stars.

 _Oh_ , Tadashi thinks. And then he looks at Kei.

Kei doesn’t look back.

 

After the meeting breaks up, Shouyou and Yachi walk down to the beach, then keep going, following the parallel lines of the water and the wall. Shouyou feels a little bad for ditching, but the crowd was becoming a little overwhelming – too many voices to listen to, too many questions to field, too many gazes to avoid. Plus, being alone with Yachi has a way of making problems turn to dust.

They talk about everything, and nothing, and sometimes they don’t talk at all. They compare their new outfits, which they both agree feel really, _really_ strange after years of wearing the Guard’s uniform. They skip rocks, and then they just _throw_ rocks into the water, a little because it’s fun and a little because they can.

The sun scrapes at the horizon and then dips under it, gradually, sending a thousand-million different shades of red spinning across the sky.

“Remember when we were in training,” Yachi says, at some point, “and you stole Tsukishima-kun’s glasses and wouldn’t give them back until he agreed to spar with you?”

Shouyou snorts and nods, nudging at the sand with the toe of his boot. “He kicked my ass,” he admits, the memory still smarting after all this time. “Said it was because he could read all my movements.”

“You _were_ pretty obvious,” Yachi giggles, lifting a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. “You always started with a right hook. Every time.”

“You’re not supposed to _say_ that,” Shouyou gasps, horrified, and Yachi’s giggles redouble.

He waits until she’s done laughing to herself before saying, “Do you still think I’m obvious?”

The smile fades off Yachi’s face, and Shouyou waits for the achingly familiar impulse to _shut down, stop talking, bury it, bury it, keep it inside_.

It doesn’t come.

Yachi says, “I think you still pick fights that you can’t win.”

Shouyou frowns. “ _I_ didn’t pick this fight,” he objects, grumpily. “The Grand King did. And I know we can beat him – we _have_ to beat him—”

“That’s not,” Yachi says, kindly, “what I’m talking about.”

She looks at him for another long moment before turning and heading back towards the docks, her head turned towards the water. Questions bubble on Shouyou’s tongue immediately, but he swallows them down at the look on Yachi’s face. Shoves his hands in his pockets. Jogs to catch up.

 _I think you still pick fights you can’t win_.

 

That night, Shouyou dreams.

It isn’t one of his normal dreams. His living-dreams, his nightmare-dreams. The freckled boy isn’t there, and neither is the disembodied voice or the creepy island. Kageyama is, though.

Well, Kageyama is and Kageyama isn’t.

This is not the sharp-focused, brightly real dreamspace he shares with the real Kageyama Tobio. There is nothing of reality here. Instead, this is blurry, half-formed, impressionistic. The suggestion of hands on skin, of warm breath pressed against the span of the chest where the heart rests.

He dreams of Kageyama’s mouth, inches away from his own. Like it had been this afternoon. Of Kageyama’s lightning eyes dropping down to Shouyou’s lips, Kageyama’s breath warm against Shouyou’s cheek. He dreams of fire, against Shouyou’s lips, his throat, his stomach, his thighs. His whole body, his whole world, every part of him set aflame.

Heat against heat.

He dreams of peeling Kageyama’s clothing away from his skin, pressing his mouth against the brand on his collarbone, the pattern of birds taking flight tattooed right beside it. He dreams of Kageyama’s voice, close to his ear, saying so so so so softly, like a promise or a prayer, “Shouyou.”

He dreams of saying, “Tobio,” back, and the word tastes like freedom and sweat and Kageyama’s skin.

And somehow this idea has been trapped inside him since he was thirteen – the impression, the desire, the _need_ to touch Kageyama, built up like stormclouds along the jetstreams of his veins. And Shouyou is somehow painfully happy and enormously sad, because this vision is real, but this Kageyama is not.

“I love you,” dream-Kageyama says, and Shouyou reaches out to touch his face.

He dissolves.

Shouyou yanks his hand back and watches Kageyama dissipate, smoke on the wind, leaving Shouyou standing in what is maybe a well-lit room, maybe a countryside, maybe a city sidewalk.

Maybe nowhere at all.

“Kageyama?” he calls.

“Oh, sorry,” a different voice answers. “Are we interrupting something?”

Shouyou gives a little half-scream and wheels around, fists up. There isn’t anyone to _fight_ , though – only two almost-perfect shadows, rippling slightly at the edges, like water. The voice speaks again – “Hello, Hinata Shouyou.” – and it is the whisper from his dreams given form, as one of the shadows opens a horrible, liquid tear of a mouth.

“I can only keep up this connection for another couple minutes,” it says. Shouyou makes a quiet wheezing sound, but the familiar-voiced shadow keeps going. “The link will get weaker the longer I keep it up. So ask your questions quickly.” It pauses. “It would’ve been easier if you’d just let me come alone.”

The other shadow blinks open a pair of startling, golden eyes.

Shouyou squeaks.

“Hello!” the golden-eyed shadow says, its voice more brassy and bright than the one Shouyou is familiar with. Oddly youthful. Oddly _human_. “We haven’t met.”

“Who are you?” Shouyou demands, trying to take a step backwards. He thinks he does – he thinks the motion is completed, anyway – but it doesn’t seem to take him anywhere. “What do you want? I don’t – I don’t _know_ anything—”

“Well, that’s a little complicated,” the golden-eyed shadow says. “And I don’t really get the concept of ‘wanting.’ I think we have a different word for it, maybe?”

The other shadow says something that sounds like the scream of someone drowning below ten feet of water.

“ _That’s_ it,” the golden-eyed shadow says. “So. To keep it simple, I was just now looking for the guy who hijacked my memories the other day. And since your presence is here _a lot_ , we figured we should ask you! But you’re definitely not him. He was smaller.”

Shouyou stares. He also automatically thinks of Noya, which is something he will never admit to anyone, ever. “ _Smaller_?”

“Yeah.” The golden-eyed shadow nods – or, maybe it nods. It’s sort of difficult to tell. There’s motion, and then there’s _motion_ , and Shouyou is having trouble differentiating. “Well, not smaller, like, overall.”

“He was taller than you,” the other shadow supplies.

“Right. Yeah, that’s what I said. Not smaller _overall_ , but like.” The shadow makes a gesture, a human arm suddenly, vividly, _distinctly_ appearing as it taps its chest. “Smaller in here. No, wait, that’s still not right. Ah…”

The other shadow makes a noise that sounds like a sigh. “He was scared.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the word! He was _scared_.”

Shouyou blurts, “I’m scared.”

The golden-eyed shadow says, “Not really. Not yet.”

Shouyou’s insides ice over.

The golden-eyed shadow says, “That’s more like it.”

The room seems to shudder, flicker, like a candle guttering. “Quickly, now,” the familiar shadow warns, and its voice sounds strained.

“So,” Shouyou says, trying to sound like he’s okay, not panicking, and not fighting back the incredibly strong desire to scream until his lungs give out. “Someone… taller than me, but scared, hijacked your memories the other day, and now you’re looking for him?”

“Exactly!” the golden-eyed shadow says, and Shouyou thinks maybe he sounds gratified.

“Over on that side,” the familiar shadow continues, “you all are exceptionally close to a tear in the Nether. Sometimes, things of substance slips through. Memories, minds. I think a Seer probably tried to give whoever it was a glimpse of another world. It backfired, though. He saw the past, instead.”

“That was a really private memory,” the golden-eyed shadow mutters. “With, like, _personal_ _feelings_.”

“Oh,” Shouyou says. “Well. I’m… sorry I can’t help you more?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t say you couldn’t help me.”

Shouyou freezes.

“You’re important, you know,” the golden-eyed shadow says. “I know you’ve already been told that, like, a million times. But, hey, you’re going to save the world. You’re going to save _us_. That’s pretty cool, right?”

Shouyou shakes his head. “I’m not going to save _anything_ ,” he says, fiercely, decisively. “I’m going to help fix what the Grand King messed up, and then I’m going home to my sister, and—”

He bites his tongue, hard enough to taste blood.

_Kageyama._

“Ah, yes,” the familiar shadow says. “The lonely one, with the hurricane eyes. Odd. I didn’t feel his presence in the vision I pulled you out of.”

Shock pumps into Shouyou’s chest, sudden and bloody. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“You love him,” the golden-eyed shadow says, simply. “So he does.”

“That’s none of your business,” Shouyou says.

The familiar shadow makes a sound that might be a laugh. “ _Everything_ is our business. We are the gatekeepers. We walk the border. It is our purpose and our burden to ensure that the darkness does not get out. That the bleed into your world ceases.”

“The _gatekeepers_?” Shouyou repeats incredulously. “What the hell is the darkness? This doesn’t make any sense—”

“Of course it doesn’t, Hinata Shouyou. Because this isn’t your world anymore. It’s mine.”

There is another jolt, a flicker, and for a brief, stunning second, Shouyou sees two boys standing in front of him instead of two shadows. One midnight-haired and fine-boned, his expression a little bit disinterested and maybe a little bit kind. The other broader and taller, with oddly marbled hair and those wide, wide golden eyes.

One second.

And then they are back to shadows.

But Shouyou cannot unsee it.

“Bokuto-san,” the familiar shadow says. “We’re out of time.”

“Aw, Ak _aash_ i,” the golden-eyed shadow whines. And then he looks at Shouyou, something close to compassion passing across the darkness of his face. “Thanks for your help, shrimpy. See you on the other side.”

He reaches out, maybe to shake Shouyou’s hand, but Shouyou’s fingertips pass through, and suddenly he is seeing a city consumed by shadow, hearing that familiar voice saying, “I’ve never been afraid of the dark,” feeling a wave of pain and horror consume him.

“Hinata,” someone says, in his ear.

“Hinata.”

“Please, Hinata.”

“ _Shouyou_.”

The dream shatters. Shouyou slams back into reality. It feels like leaping off a cliff into cold water.

It takes a moment for him to understand where he is – _Karasuno_ ’s cabin looks unreal, warped somehow, in the almost-darkness of the dawn. There is a horrible, all-consuming ache inside his chest, the fragmented remnants of watching shadows consume Akaashi Keiji whole – because that was his name, Shouyou knows it now, knows it like he knows his own.

His breath is coming hard, he thinks, but that might be leftover from Bokuto Koutarou’s last moments. His hands are digging into his skull, pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t really know where the pain is coming from. He is having trouble deciding what is dream and what is truth.

“Shouyou,” someone says, again.

 _No_ , he wants to respond.

_No, no, that’s not me._

You’re important.

 _I’m not_.

You’re going to save the world.

 _I can’t_.

You’re going to save _us_.

 _I can’t even save_ myself.

Warm fingers, around Shouyou’s wrists. Gentle. Calloused. They draw Shouyou’s hands away from his face, lower them down to his lap.

“You’re safe,” Kageyama says. “It’s over.”

His hands lift again, to brush the hair out of Shouyou’s face, and this time Shouyou does not stop himself from turning his face to brush a kiss against one of Kageyama’s palms. Kageyama twitches, but doesn’t pull away. He maybe sighs a little bit. He maybe touches Shouyou’s cheek, incredibly gently, before wrapping his arms around Shouyou’s shoulders and pulling him against his chest.

He maybe keeps repeating, “You’re okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” against Shouyou’s ear.

He maybe lays his lips against the side of Shouyou’s head.

Shouyou maybe lets him.

 

A break, and an explanation, as we grow closer to the end.

This close to the Nether, time flows just ever so slightly not-right. Blink, and fifteen minutes have passed. Count out the seconds, and no time passes at all. Maybe a week goes by with _Karasuno_ and _Nekoma_ anchored at the docks of the iron city. Maybe two days go by. Maybe a month does.

Time is flowing, though, so things happen, as they will and as they must. Things happen, and possibly they matter, but possibly they don’t.

You can decide for yourself.

Hinata Shouyou and Yamaguchi Tadashi meet for what is simultaneously the first time and the hundredth. Tadashi stutters a lot. Shouyou asks if his wound is doing okay. It is nothing, but, to them, it is everything.

Sawamura Daichi tries to rest. But, even though his dreams are not _Something_ like Shouyou and Tadashi’s are, they still haunt him with suggestions of failure. Of loss. Of having to bury his crew. His mind supplies a different body every night.

Azumane Asahi reteaches himself how to fight, tries to shake off the fear that has settled into his bones. Nishinoya Yuu is both a help and a hindrance. If they sneak touches and glances while they’re practicing, no one needs to know.

Tsukishima Kei lives and breathes and tries very, very hard not to think. When Kiyoko looks over Yamaguchi’s wound, Kei makes himself scarce. When Yamaguchi leaves the infirmary, Kei watches and wonders whether maybe he’ll come back this time.

Sugawara Koushi Sees, and smiles at Sawamura Daichi, and maybe, maybe, maybe feels something for himself, for the first time that he can remember.

Kageyama Tobio dreams of sunlight.

(Things happen.

Possibly they matter.

But probably they don’t.)

And then, on what might be the fifth day and what might be the fiftieth, black sails appear on the horizon. They emerge out of nowhere, built from nothing.

The ship nears shore, its crew shadow-draped and forgotten, the very memory of humanity lost. Maybe forever. Maybe just for today.

On the deck of the ghost ship _Seijoh_ , Iwaizumi Hajime spots the crimson sails of _Nekoma_ and hopes.

 

Just like when Shouyou was thirteen, the attack happens gradually. A single cannon fires, and then another, and then another. And then, like a downpour comes after a scattering of rain, the air is full of smoke and gunpowder. The iron wall goes up in flame surprisingly easily, and there is chaos on the beach as _Seijoh_ ’s crew storms the docks. The Grand King is strolling behind them, smiling languidly like he’s doing nothing more interesting than sun tanning on the docks.

Shouyou has been ordered to stay out of the center of the fight and instead head down the beach to keep an eye on the fringes. The order comes from Kuroo, and, logically, Shouyou knows it’s a good call. He’s quick and perceptive and is probably best equipped to chase someone down if they break away and try to breech the wall away from the gate.

The thing is, staying out of things is really, _really_ not something Shouyou is good at.

He polices himself, pacing back and forth at his spot and chancing glances into the fray, where _Nekoma_ ’s crimson coats and _Karasuno_ ’s simple civilian clothes are blending and blurring with _Seijoh_ ’s flat black. Someone is yelling something – Shouyou thinks it might be Kuroo – and then he sees Oikawa draw his blade, flip it around in his hand neatly, and then lift it to meet Daichi’s blow.

 _Stay out of it_ , Shouyou reminds himself, sternly. _Kuroo-san told you to stay out of it_.

And then there’s a rustle, a movement behind him, and Shouyou nearly weeps in joy.

He draws his sword faster than he maybe ever has, spinning to meet whoever’s coming, muscles itching to slash someone, to feel in his fingers the unlikely cadence of steel against steel. But the figure retreating down the beach, disappearing around a bend and into a small cavern…

Well.

…It sort of looks like Kageyama.

Okay, actually, that’s bullshit. It’s definitely, one hundred percent, absolutely Kageyama.

Shouyou blinks at the cave Kageyama disappeared into for a moment, wondering why the _fuck_ he would ever voluntarily desert the fight. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t add up. Shouyou hesitates, wondering if he should go after him.

There’s a horrible, sudden scream from inside the cavern.

One.

Two.

 _Silent_.

Shouyou is sprinting immediately. No thought, no concern, all impulse – every atom in his body screaming Kageyama’s name, and somewhere in his mind, Shouyou recognizes how _stupid_ he’s being, but that’s _Kageyama_ in there. _Kageyama_.

“What the _hell_ —?”

Shouyou rounds the corner in time to see a blue glow burst into life at Kageyama’s wrist.

He rounds the corner in time to see the air around Kageyama ripple, distort like he’s plunged into water and Shouyou’s watching him from above. In time to see his hair fade to a mousy brown, to see his shoulders compact, to see his waistline narrow. In time to see his scars disappear. In time to see shadows bubble and burst to life across his skin.

The _wrongness_ in the air slowly dissipates, and the blue light at Kageyama’s wrist fades. Kageyama rolls his shoulders, tips his head from side to side. And then he turns and meets Shouyou’s eyes.

He is not Kageyama anymore.

“Hi, there,” the stranger says.

There’s a soft growl from a shadowy corner of the cavern. “God, I hate that,” someone else says, and then a blond man with heavily-lined eyes and an almost _animalistic_ snarl on his face steps into the light. He is crawling with shadows, too, his eyes flicking from normal to flat black in turns.

Not-Kageyama sighs. “Yes, but you hate everything, Kyoutani-kun,” he points out, maybe reasonably. Shouyou can’t think. Shouyou can’t _breathe_.

“How,” he tries to say, but his voice won’t come. There’s nothing but desert inside his mouth. Below his skin.

Kyoutani sniffs irritably. “Fuck you. That shit’s creepy and you know it.”

“Shush, now. We have company.” Not-Kageyama turns his eyes to Shouyou, which are wide and brown (sometimes black). Nothing at all like Kageyama’s. Not even a little. “I’m very, very sorry about this,” he soothes. “I promise I wouldn’t have tricked you if we had another choice.”

Shouyou tries to take a deep breath, but it catches like glass inside his throat. “I don’t understand,” he whispers.

(In his mind, he says, _I’m scared_ , and Bokuto Koutarou’s voice responds, _Not really. Not yet_.)

“I know,” the boy who wore Kageyama’s face says. “I know you don’t. But you will, someday. And right now, we really, truly need your help.”

“Yahaba,” Kyoutani says, sharply.

“I know,” Yahaba says, his voice still gentle, his eyes still kind. “Try it.”

Kyoutani steps forward. Shouyou whimpers, tries to pull away, but then Kyoutani’s hand is closing on his shoulder, and…

And then there is burning light, filling the cavern, brighter than a sunset. Orange and red and yellow and gold, everywhere, cast over everything.

“Thank God,” Yahaba says.

 _This is Hinata Shouyou, and he is going to save us all_.

This time, when his vision goes dark, Shouyou does not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway, here's bokuaka


	12. blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't say no  
> Though the lights are on  
> There's nobody home  
> \- Troye Sivan, "Blue"

It does not rain the day of the attack.

Asahi sort of expected it to. Ever since that day on the docks of the Eastern Port, he’s been hearing Suga’s voice in his head, over and over again, on loop. _It feels like rain_ , he’d said, his hands in his pockets and his face tipped up, towards the sky. And then when Asahi offered to alert their boss, pack it in for the day, he said, _Not that kind of rain_.

Not that kind of rain.

(Sometimes, Asahi lets himself wonder what would’ve happened if they hadn’t left the docks that day. If he’d spent the rest of his life loading cargo onto schooners. If he’d never had to think about magic and darkness and the end of the world.

He lets himself wonder that. And then he thinks about where he is now, the people he’s surrounded by, the person he is becoming, and the wondering stops.)

_Seijoh_ appears on the horizon gradually. It assembles itself from darkness, inch by inch, piece by piece. There’s a weird silence hanging over _Karasuno_ and _Nekoma_ ’s crew as it becomes closer, sharper, _realer_. Asahi feels the silence draped across his shoulders, a physical weight against his skin.

Next to him, Noya jabs his elbow into Tanaka’s stomach.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Tanaka says, and Noya is grinning, and there is no fear on either of their faces – just a savage sort of joy, the result of years and years of planning and waiting and hate.

Asahi takes a breath that feels like a stutter. Noya’s gaze turns to him.

“Are you scared, Asahi-san?” he asks, clapping a hand on Asahi’s shoulder. The touch was probably meant to be rough, playful, but it sinks into Asahi’s skin like liquid courage.

“Of course I’m scared,” Asahi mumbles, a little defensively. “Who wouldn’t be scared right now?”

Noya grins at him, his expression softening for a reason Asahi can’t name. And then he says, “Me, too,” and Asahi remembers having almost this exact same conversation in Noya and Tanaka’s apartment after Noya pulled him from the wreckage of his old ship.

“Good thing you’re brave enough for both of us, right?” Asahi teases, and Noya snorts.

“Good thing,” he corrects, “you’re braver than you think.”

_Seijoh_ is close, now. Close enough to pick out the canons along her flanks. Close enough to see the flags she flies – one the skull and crossbones, the other sky-colored and sharply clean.

Close enough to see figures, clothed in black, lining the deck of the ship.

“Asahi-san, do you remember what you said to me, right after we first met?”

Asahi looks at Noya out of the corner of his eye. Next to him, Noya’s staring out at the approaching ghost ship, but Asahi can feel the weight of his attention turned inward. Turned on Asahi. His eyes are bright with something that Asahi doesn’t recognize.

“What did I say?” he asks, and his voice only shakes a little. _Seijoh_ is close enough now to hear the first mate barking orders and the crewmen shout back.

“You said I could trust you with anything,” Noya says.

Asahi looks at him, this miraculous boy, built from sharp angles, graceful lines. “Oh,” he says. “Yes. I remember that.”

Noya’s mouth turns up a little at the corners, pulling at that scar that drags along his lower lip. “Then I have a favor to ask you.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay alive.”

The first canon fires.

And then the world slows down.

It has been a long time since Asahi has fought anyone with any measure of seriousness. The gulf between training with Noya and lifting his sword to meet the blade of a pirate with night-black eyes and a form that’s more shadow than man? It’s immense. It’s insurmountable.

Asahi moves.

He relies mostly on his size and strength – he knows his movements aren’t refined, that his attacks are often crude and rudimentary. Against someone like Noya, it would matter; against someone like Noya, it would end with him dead. But he is facing a shadow with the face of a boy, with slow movements and middle-parted hair and a kind of desperation in his face that Asahi has never, never seen before.

He pushes, and pushes.

Asahi pushes back.

The world is falling to pieces around him. He sees Daichi stepping forward to cross swords with the captain; he sees Yachi lunge forward to block a sword that was about to plunge into a _Nekoma_ crewman’s back; he sees Noya sweep the feet out from under a slight boy with a shaved head and a strangely kind expression; he sees Suga stumble, his eyebrows creasing, his hand lifting to his face.

“Your gallantry is admirable,” _Seijoh_ ’s captain is drawling, somehow loud enough to drown out the chaos. “But it doesn’t need to be like this. Let us find what we’re looking for, and then we’ll go along on our merry way. No one need get hurt.”

“You’re lying,” Daichi says.

_Seijoh_ ’s captain grins.

“You’re right.”

It goes on forever. It goes on until the end of the world. Asahi is exhausted, his muscles aching, his sweat salty and acrid on his tongue. _You’re braver than you think_ , Noya’s voice says, inside his head, again and again and again.

Asahi doesn’t know about bravery. But when he keeps lifting his sword to meet the pirates’, keeps moving his body to put himself between his crew and his enemies, keeps moving despite the screaming in his muscles to stop…

He thinks bravery might be this.

“You’ve got something I need,” _Seijoh_ ’s captain is calling, sidestepping both Daichi _and_ Kuroo, now. “Some _one_ , actually. And I believe you’re harboring an old friend, as well.”

“A _friend_?” Kuroo repeats. “Last I knew, you’d stuck a sword in his chest and left him for the crows. A thirteen-year-old _kid_ , Oikawa.”

_Seijoh’s_ captain sighs. “Come on, now, Tetsu-chan. What would you have done in my place?”

Kuroo bares his teeth, lunges back to avoid a particularly nasty jab. “Shown mercy.”

“There’s no such thing as mercy,” _Seijoh_ ’s captain says. “There’s survival. And I mean to survive.”

“Can you really afford to be distracted right now?” the pirate Asahi’s fighting asks. And Asahi’s gaze is torn back to him, just in time to duck under a slash that, if he hadn’t reacted fast enough, would’ve torn right through his throat. He stumbles backwards, trying to regain his calm and his footing, but the pirate doesn’t seem to be tiring.

He doesn’t seem to be reacting physically to the fight at _all_.

_You’re braver than you think_.

A slash rips through the collar of Asahi’s shirt. Not quite close enough to draw blood.

_You’re braver than you think_.

Another one, whistling past Asahi’s cheek, close enough for him to hear the hum of the steel splitting the air.

_You’re braver than you think_.

Asahi knocks the sword out of his opponent’s hand. His opponent kicks Asahi’s legs out from under him.

A knee on his chest, a hand on his throat.

“Where’s the boy with the red hair?” the pirate hisses in Asahi’s ear. “The small one. Where is he?”

“ _Hinata_?” Asahi chokes, and the pirate snarls softly.

“I didn’t ask for a _name_. Where. Is. He.”

Asahi’s blood is pounding in his ears. It’s almost steadying, calming. A reminder that he’s still alive.

“What the hell do you want with Hinata?”

“That’s none of your damn business.” His grip tightens on Asahi’s throat, and Asahi aims a punch that lands square on the pirate’s jaw. It doesn’t seem to affect him – he shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut, and then focuses his gaze back on Asahi.

“Just tell me where he is.”

More pressure on Asahi’s throat. Hard enough that air isn’t coming right, catching painfully in his mouth, and Asahi – Asahi is beginning to panic. Beginning to understand that if he doesn’t do something here, now, he is going to die. His life will end here, and then he’ll be gone, and then…

_Stay alive_.

Asahi presses his eyes shut, the pirate presses down more, and blackness presses in on Asahi’s vision.

_Sorry_ , he thinks in Noya’s general direction.

“Get the _fuck_ away from him,” Noya’s voice says, above him.

The hand on Asahi’s throat releases, and Asahi’s eyes snap open in time to see Noya slamming into the pirate, both of them crashing to the ground in a mess of limbs and shadow. Asahi wheezes, reaching up to clutch at the ache around his neck, and the pirate extracts himself from Noya, scrambling over to where his sword was flung during his fight with Asahi.

Noya reaches down wordlessly and pulls Asahi to his feet, and Asahi readies himself to keep fighting – to keep fighting until he dies, probably, until his body doesn’t know anything, anything except for the sting of steel and the smell of blood.

And then a pale blue glow bursts into life on the pirate’s wrist, and his eyes fix on something in the distance. _He’s Seeing_ , Asahi thinks, absurdly, for a split second, and then the pirate says, “Yes, sir,” like he’s answering a voice only he can hear.

_A telepath_ , Asahi realizes.

The pirate turns to Asahi. Their eyes meet, flat black and brown, and the pirate inclines his head. There is something close to relief on his strange, indistinct features.

“It’s done,” he says.

And then, as quickly as they arrived, _Seijoh_ is gone.

Asahi watches in amazement and disbelief as the pirates load onto their ship and retreat into the distance, _Seijoh_ ’s captain standing at the helm and blowing kisses in the direction of Kageyama Tobio. Asahi stares until they disappear, a speck on the horizon, dust blown away by the wind.

“We made them leave,” Yamaguchi Tadashi says, like he can’t quite believe it. “They… they _left_.”

“They left,” Yachi echoes.

“We won,” Daichi says.

_We won._

_We won._

_We_ won.

Asahi collapses to his knees as a roar goes up around him, euphoria exploding out of all of them like fireworks. Kuroo is sweeping Daichi and Suga into a hug, Kiyoko is peppering Yachi’s face with kisses, _Nekoma_ has amassed into an enormous group pile-up, Ennoshita looks close to tears. Asahi thinks he’s probably crying a bit, too.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, gently wrapping around his arm and pulling him to his feet. “Are you okay?” Noya demands, his voice low and urgent, his hands moving up and down Asahi’s arms like he’s looking for injuries. “Are you hurt at all? Can you talk, Asahi-san? Please talk to me—”

And Asahi looks at him, and it is like the first time. Nishinoya Yuu, somehow simultaneously tiny and cosmic. Every inch of him built from sharp angles, sharp eyes, sharp scars, a sharp smile.

Asahi allows himself a split second to follow the lines of his scars, through his eyebrow, across his throat, along his lips.

“I’m okay,” he says, and he sweeps Noya into a hug.

Noya gives a little cheer and lets Asahi lift him, lets Asahi bury his face in the crook between his throat and his shoulder, and Asahi is golden – every inch of him warm and safe and quiet, so quiet.

_Seijoh_ is gone, the Iron City is untouched, Asahi is alive, Noya is alive. They’re all safe.

Every one of them.

Noya squirms out of Asahi’s arms, and Asahi drops him quickly, startled, worried that he stepped across a line, prodded something that wasn’t meant to be prodded.

And then Noya is taking Asahi’s face between his hands and kissing him, fast and fierce. On the mouth.

His lips are soft and dry and insistent. Noya tastes like sweat, and he kisses the way he speaks – like every instant should be punctuated with an exclamation point.

Asahi sighs and lets himself melt into it, and for once he is not thinking of anything. Only the feeling of Noya’s fingers on his jaw, Noya’s lips on his lips, Noya’s taste in his mouth.

A minute goes by, or maybe a year, before Noya pulls away. Asahi is reeling. Somewhere, he thinks he hears Tanaka whooping, maybe clapping him on the shoulder, but he’s having trouble processing anything except for the warmth Noya’s lips left behind on his own.

“Was that all right, Asahi-san?” Noya asks, and Asahi can only nod, numbly.

A smile breaks across Noya’s face, sudden, like a sunrise, and then he’s laughing and planting another kiss on Asahi’s mouth before leaping out of his arms. Tanaka roars with laughter and lets Noya clamber up onto his shoulders; they howl away like thunder, and Asahi is maybe laughing a little bit, too, his heart still beating irregular and too quick.

_We won_ , Daichi’s voice says inside Asahi’s head.

_We won, we won, we_ won.

Asahi’s definitely laughing now, turning to sweep Suga into a hug and then Daichi, despite the obvious look of shock on the captain’s face. And there’s yellow-gold heat in his chest and on his mouth and in his fingers, and Asahi is _happy_.

“To Date Kougyou!” Kuroo thunders, and _Nekoma_ and _Karasuno_ cheer loud enough to shake the heavens. Loud enough to blow every shadow on the planet away, Asahi thinks.

It’s good.

Everything is _good_ —

“Stop,” a voice says. Quiet. And then again, louder, virulent: “ _Stop_.”

Asahi does.

So does everyone else.

Kageyama pushes his way through the crowd, a smear of blood on his cheek. Other than that, he looks unharmed, and Asahi is confused for a long moment, trying to search for a wound that isn’t there. And then he sees the expression on Kageyama’s face, the way he’s looking at Daichi.

The _panic_ in his eyes.

(Asahi has never seen someone look so frightened.)

“Kageyama?” Daichi says, and no matter how worried he might sound now, it does not – it _cannot_ – come close to the expression on Kageyama’s face.

When Kageyama speaks, his voice breaks. Shatters.

Glass on concrete.

A wave on the shore.

“Where the fuck is Hinata?”

 

Daichi is cold.

They spend the night looking for Hinata Shouyou’s body. They comb the beaches, following the line of the Iron Wall, searching the waves. At one point, they find his footprints, pacing a divot into the sand and then suddenly, strangely turning. Joining with another set of steps and disappearing into a cave.

Neither coming out.

“Daichi,” Yachi says, when they find it, and her voice digs into Daichi in a way that hurts like nothing he’s ever experienced before. “Is he dead?”

Daichi makes a tiny, pathetic sound, and he immediately is furious with himself for it – now, of all times, he should be showing strength in front of his crew. In front of Noya, Tanaka, Asahi. In front of Suga.

(In front of Kageyama Tobio.)

Yachi takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Oh,” she says.

Kiyoko catches her before she can fall to her knees, cradles her to her chest like she’s trying to shelter her, like there is rain pouring around them and Kiyoko cannot think of another way to keep Yachi out of the storm. They are both crying, and then Daichi is, too, and then he thinks maybe they all are. Every one of them, united in grief for a boy who contained so much life that it seems perverse, unreasonable that he would ever, ever die.

Fingertips touch Daichi’s elbow. Suga’s voice says, “No.”

Daichi freezes, smudges at his tears with his forearm. He turns to face Suga and reaches out, grabs his biceps.

“What do you mean?” he demands, and he sounds so desperate and pitiful, he recoils from himself a little. “He’s alive? You’ve Seen him?”

Suga’s jaw is gritted down, his eyebrows kitted together and his eyes a thousand miles away. “I still See his timeline. He can’t be dead. He still has a future.”

There is a pause. A silence. And then Yachi sobs, “Oh, thank _God_ ,” and the grief pulls away, drawing back, like a tide. Gone, gone, gone. Still heavy with the chance to come back.

Enough to allow hope to rush in.

“Where is he, then?” Daichi presses. He tries very, very hard to relax his grip on Suga’s arms, change the touch to something respectful rather than frantic. Suga doesn’t seem fazed, though. He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m not sure,” Suga admits. “I keep Seeing the Nether, though. And the island where the fountain of youth is…”

He stops.

Kageyama says, “They’re going to use him, aren’t they?”

This is the first time he has spoken since he pointed out to them that Hinata is missing. Daichi chances a glance and his stomach twists at the harrowed look on Kageyama’s face, the dull twist to his mouth, the matte blankness in his eyes.

Suga says, “Yes.”

Daichi shakes his head, drops his hands from Suga’s arms. “I don’t understand. Who’s going to use Hinata? For _what_?”

Suga opens his eyes, and Daichi’s heartbeat slows. Almost naturally, automatically.

“Breathe,” Suga whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, the word intended only for Daichi. And he feels profoundly, unescapably like a mooring, an anchor, as the rest of the world rises like tides around them.

“ _Seijoh_ ,” Suga continues, louder. “What they did to Nishinoya, the path they’ve been carving through the kingdom… They’re looking for sunlight, don’t you remember? Something with enough power to chase away the shadows for good.”

“Shit,” Ennoshita mutters. “Shit.”

“Sunlight,” Nishinoya says. “So, Hinata.”

“Hinata,” Suga confirms.

Daichi shakes his head violently. “How is that _possible_?” he growls. “Hianta isn’t sunlight, he’s a _person_. A human being. And what will happen to Hinata if—?”

Suga’s expression falls. His gaze drops, too.

Daichi says, “No.”

“What?” Tanaka demands, his voice sharp and gravelly. “No, _what_? What’s going to happen to him?”

Suga hesitates. His gaze lands on Daichi, and it’s maybe a little beseeching. Like he’s looking for forgiveness on Daichi’s face.

“Hinata,” Suga says, slowly, carefully, “possesses potential that we can only begin to understand. His light is immense – I know from experience. It’s difficult to See around him at all, because he burns blindingly bright.”

“So it’ll work, then,” Tsukishima says, unconcerned in a way that Daichi immediately recognizes as a defense mechanism.

“It’ll work,” Suga confirms. “The darkness will be destroyed. But if _Seijoh_ uses Hinata to close the tear in the Nether, it will almost certainly kill him.”

Silence.

Silence.

Daichi feels as though he is submerged miles below the surface, too deep to see the sun.

“We can’t let that happen,” Tanaka says.

“What can we _do_ , though?” Asahi whispers, his hand pressed to his mouth like he’s trying to trap his fear inside him.

Nishinoya slings an arm around Asahi’s shoulders. “Come on, come on. They tried to use _me_ once, remember? And I survived with only a couple weird scars to show for it. Maybe—”

“It’s not the same,” Kageyama snarls. His voice is low, disturbingly even. There’s coiled tension in his shoulders, wildfire inside his eyes.

Like he is drenched in kerosene and waiting for a spark.

“What do you mean, it’s not the same?” Yachi asks, her voice breaking high on the word ‘same.’

“It’s not the _same_ ,” Kageyama repeats. “That was small-scale. They used you to try to burn the shadows away from _one_ goddamn _person_. They’re going to use Hinata to – they – fuck. Goddamn it.” He squeezes his hands into fists, drops his head. “He’s not enough. The Nether will close, but he’ll die. He’ll – fucking – he’ll die.”

“Kageyama,” Kiyoko says, reaching a pacifying hand out. Kageyama reels away.

“Don’t touch me,” he says, and it’s frantic, and frightened, and _lost_. “Don’t touch me.”

Daichi wishes he knew what to say.

“Okay,” Ennoshita says, beside him. “Okay. Captain, I’m taking everyone else back to _Karasuno_ and we’re all going to sleep on this.” When there’s a general noise of protest, he plows on: “Panicking won’t help. It never does. Just… Daichi, please try to get some sleep.”

Daichi nods, and claps Ennoshita on the shoulder, and lets them go. Of course he does. He’s a good captain, he likes to think. He puts his crew first. Always.

He stays out, though. He stays out all night. He keeps looking. Turns the cave, the beach, the boats over, looking for a sign.

Kageyama stays with him, stony-faced and urgent, and Daichi isn’t surprised by that. (He suggests, once, around three in the morning, that Kageyama go back to the ship and get some rest. Kageyama gives him a look of such genuine disbelief and horror that Daichi gives up the idea immediately.)

Suga stays, too, and maybe _that_ is surprising, or maybe it’s not. Daichi isn’t sure he’s decided, yet. All he knows is that when Suga slips his hand into Daichi’s, when Suga presses close beside him, his breathing even, his gaze faraway and veiled – it feels a little better. It feels a little less oppressive.

A little less wrong.

(“I don’t know how to fix this,” Daichi says.

“I know,” Suga says, and he presses his forehead against Daichi’s shoulder. “That’s what you have us for.”)

Night comes and goes. So does dawn. And the sun comes up, and Hinata is still gone. Still gone. Still lost.

Daichi says, “I’m sorry, Kageyama.”

Kageyama does not beg.

He does not plead. He does not curse the gods. He does not turn violent, lash out, let the war inside him loose. He does not refuse the truth of it. He does not blame Daichi.

He does not cry.

Instead, Daichi sees the light die inside his eyes.

“Kageyama,” Daichi says, and Kageyama does not respond. He stares straight ahead, and his hands are trembling, and Daichi cannot unsee this. He cannot unlearn this hopelessness. He cannot undo it.

“Kageyama,” he says, again. “Talk to me.”

Kageyama shakes his head.

“We can still get him back. We can still find him.”

Kageyama closes his eyes.

“I have loved him,” he says, “all my life.”

 

Daichi calls _Karasuno_ ’s crew together shortly after that. They meet in the captain’s quarters of the ship, and Daichi can’t help remember that first meeting they had, the day they cast off from the Eastern Port. He can see Hinata’s face so, so vividly – can see the way he reacted when Tsukishima said that Kageyama was nothing but a pirate, that he couldn’t be trusted.

“He _is_ , though,” Hinata had said. “He is one of us.”

And now Hinata is gone.

“Daichi,” Suga says, his voice incredibly gentle, but Daichi barely hears it. His brain is replaying the first time he met Hinata Shouyou, during basic training. He’d been so nervous, he’d nearly been sick on Daichi’s shoes. And then they’d run a drill, and Hinata had thrown himself back into the fray to save Daichi’s life, even though he knew it was low-to-no-stakes training.

That was just the way he was. The way he _is_.

Fuck.

God _fucking_ dammit.

“What do we do?” Yachi says, in an exceptionally small voice.

Daichi looks up and meets Kageyama’s eyes.

Kageyama lifts an eyebrow.

Daichi nods.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

The entire room turns towards Kageyama. He’s pushed himself into a standing position, staring at all of them like a challenge.

_What do we do_?

“We find him.”

 

Lev’s bouncing is making it really, _really_ difficult to clean his cuts.

Most everyone on _Nekoma_ ’s crew made it out of the fray relatively unscathed, but there are lots of small injuries that need to be tended to. Tadashi doesn’t usually help with medical treatment, but he can see that Kenma is overwhelmed. Trying to get the dirt out of Lev’s scrapes is the least he can do.

“Sit still,” he reminds Lev, gently, and Lev grimaces, snapping still almost comically quickly.

“Sorry, Yamaguchi,” he says, and Tadashi tries to smile at him.

He wonders, for about the eight-hundredth time that hour, whether _Karasuno_ found Hinata Shouyou.

There’s this horrible, toxic bubble of guilt that balloons in his chest every time he thinks about Hinata. They’re linked, aren’t they? Tadashi should’ve been looking out for him – keeping an eye on him, at least. Instead, he can’t even remember seeing Hinata before the battle. He was too busy being frightened, and overwhelmed, and weak.

_Weak_.

Tadashi rubs maybe a little too hard on one of Lev’s cuts and Lev jerks back a little bit, making a small sound of distress.

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Tadashi blurts, holding Lev’s leg still so he can check the damage. “This one’s clean, but I think it might need stitches.”

“Aw,” Lev groans, leaning down to inspect it himself. “Can’t we just bandage it and hope for the best?”

“Don’t you want it to heal?” Tadashi asks, a little absently, as he stands up and grabs a clean cloth to wipe his hands off with.

“I want a cool scar,” Lev announces. “Like Yaku-san. Have you seen Yaku-san’s scars? He has one—”

Tadashi shoves a glass of water into Lev’s hands. “I don’t want to know.”

Lev sticks his tongue out at him.

“Don’t argue with me, Lev-san,” Tadashi says. “I’m going to go get Kenma. I’ll be right back—”

“Don’t bother. I’ll do it.”

Tadashi jumps and turns around. Kei spares him half a glance before crouching down at Lev’s feet, peering closely at the cut.

“This does need stitches,” he says. “You might want to drink something before we get started.”

Tadashi tries very, very hard not to watch Kei work. He’s not a big fan of wounds and blood, so keeping an eye on a surgical operation, even a simple one, is enough to make his stomach turn. But the look on Kei’s face – serious, thoughtful, confident, calm – isn’t quite one Tadashi recognizes. It’s like a slightly altered version of the Kei Tadashi knows, taller and blonder and more certain of himself and his movements.

It makes Tadashi _want_ to watch.

Kei is finished quickly, maybe even more quickly than Kenma would be. Tadashi isn’t sure. He straightens and cleans his hands, gives Lev instructions on how to take care of himself while it heals, and then Lev bounds off, and it is just the two of them.

Tadashi is startlingly aware of the fact that this is the first time they have been alone together since he left.

Kei’s face is stony as he dusts his clothing off and rolls his shoulders back. He isn’t looking at Tadashi, and it doesn’t feel like an accident. Tadashi might not know him anymore, but he does know anger.

His chest aches.

“Tsukki,” he says. “We need to talk about this eventually.”

Kei nods, and Tadashi expects him to tear into him again. Talk about betrayal, and loneliness, and what it felt like when Tadashi left. Tadashi has prepared himself. He’s certain nothing Kei says will be worse than what he’s already said to himself.

And then Kei says, “Hinata’s gone.”

Tadashi freezes.

“Gone,” he repeats. “What do you mean, _gone_?”

“I mean _Seijoh_ took him,” Kei says. His jaw grits down, raw emotion flitting across his face for a split-second. “They think that he can fix this, somehow. That he can close the Nether.”

“No,” Tadashi says, automatically. “No, that’s not possible. It’s too big – it’s too – he’s just a _kid_ , he’s just a person—”

“You know him.”

Tadashi stares.

There’s no judgment on Kei’s face. No anger, no bitterness. Nothing. He looks at Tadashi with those comet-colored eyes and says, “When you talked, you looked at him like you knew him. Like you recognized him, somehow.”

Tadashi hesitates briefly. “Yeah,” he says. “I saw him in my dreams.”

Kei nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What…” Tadashi pauses, breaks the words off. “What can I _do_ , Tsukki?”

Kei’s eyes catch Tadashi’s and stay there. And then he leans forward, ever so slightly, his eyes blazing and magnetic and insistent.

“You can help us get him back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kageyama I'm sorry child it will get better.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also I really really want to apologize for not being able to keep up with replying to comments. It means so much to me whenever one of y'all takes the time to leave a comment, and I always try to at least scream incoherently back. But these past few weeks have been wild (I'm graduating on Friday holy shit!!!!) so I haven't been able to stay up on it like I wish I could. I'm so sorry about that!


	13. deep, quiet, and alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou dreams.

The darkness fades slowly.

When Shouyou was a child, growing up by the sea, he would sometimes wake in time to watch the sunrise. Fog spreads over calm waters during nighttime, leaving the ocean looking like something… alternate. Something magic. And then day breaks, and the fog dissipates. Slowly, slowly, bit-by-bit, the world returns to reality.

That’s how this feels. Slowly, slowly. Bit-by-bit. Returned back to reality.

It’s an odd feeling. He is used to being launched from sleep, to plunging into wakefulness like he has fallen off of something tall. This time, though, it’s like he’s struggling to pull himself out of unconsciousness. Like his body is resisting.

Like he doesn’t want to wake.

He opens his eyes to the curving, wood-lain interior of a ship. An empty room – the barracks, maybe. Yeah, definitely the barracks. The other bunks are empty. The ship rocks slightly, back and forth, back and forth. The motion is odd, though. Too regular.

Shouyou is alone.

_Karasuno_ , he thinks for a moment, but even as he’s thinking it he knows that it is wrong – this ship does not feel like _Karasuno_ felt. It is not familiar even in newness, in unfamiliarity. And it’s way too silent; there was never _silence_ on _Karasuno_ , because the quiet was always broken by laughter or bickering or teasing.

Shouyou’s body aches. His eyes are heavy. When he tries to move his limbs, they feel laborious and strange. And his shoulder _hurts_ – it’s a dull kind of pain, constant and wearying. The kind of pain you don’t want to move through.

He closes his eyes.

A familiar voice whispers in his ear, _Get up_.

Shouyou jolts upright, reaching to his belt for a sword that is no longer there. There is no one, though. The room is empty.

Memory is beginning to trickle in: the battle, the beach, Kageyama’s features rearranging into a stranger’s. A flash of light.

Then darkness.

“Fuck,” Shouyou mutters. “Fuck, shit.”

Rolling his shoulder, he pushes himself up and out of bed, onto his feet. He sways a little when he stands, but otherwise his feet stay sturdy under him. Whoever’s taken him has removed his top layers of clothing, leaving just his pants and thin, white undershirt. He’s barefoot, too, his boots propped up against the wall near the door. Still no sword, though.

This ship must be _Seijoh_ , then. The Grand King and his crew must have captured him.

_Captured_ him?

Why would they capture him? He’s nothing to them, just another soldier they don’t have on their side. There’s no reason they would keep him alive. Nothing, nothing.

“There’s nothing,” Shouyou repeats, out loud this time. “There’s nothing.”

His shoulder really, really fucking hurts.

Shouyou crosses over to where a few stray rays of sunlight are creeping in through a porthole and twists himself to inspect his shoulder, which is covered with fresh bandaging and what smells like a medicinal poultice. Wincing, he pulls the bandaging away from what must be a nasty wound – it feels really deep, like it’s cut straight through to muscle and bone.

The bandaging comes off cleanly.

“Oh, my God,” Shouyou whispers.

It’s not a wound. The skin is unbroken. But there is a shadow impressed upon his shoulder, engraved into the skin, in the shape of a handprint. The edges wobble and shift, the fingers clenching and unclenching as Shouyou watches.

Shouyou gives a horrified little sob and slaps the bandage back over it, trying to ignore the way it sends pain jolting down his arm like an electric shock.

_What happened_? _What happened what happened what_ —?

There is a knock at the door, and then, half a second later, it swings open. A boy walks in, his dark hair standing straight up on his head, clothed in _Seijoh_ ’s uniform. He looks… normal, though. There are no shadows on his body. His eyes are clear. He’s even carrying a normal weapon: a staff slung across his back, pointed at the end like a spear.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, his eyes going wide. “We thought you’d be out for another few days, at least.”

Shouyou’s fingers, trembling, find the wound on his shoulder and press down. “Where are we?” he demands. “What the hell happened to me?”

The boy nods and squints at Shouyou for a long moment before gesturing for him to sit down. “Wow, okay, questions already. Fine. You probably should lie back down, though. Your strength—”

“My strength is _fine_ , thanks,” Shouyou huffs, heatedly. “I don’t need to lie down. I want to know who you are and what the hell I’m doing here.”

The boy sniffs, annoyance passing over his face briefly before his expression settles back into neutral. “All right, fine,” he says, a little grumpily. “Do whatever you want. I’m Kindaichi Yuutarou. You don’t need to remember my name, it’s not important.”

“Hinata Shouyou,” Shouyou says, automatically, before he remembers that he’s supposed to be furious with this asshole.

Kindaichi lifts an eyebrow. “I… Um. Yeah. I know. Do you remember how much Yahaba-san told you, before you passed out?”

Shouyou stares. “Who’s Yahaba?”

“The one who shape-shifts.” Kindaichi makes a face and wiggles his fingers a little. “He probably took the King’s form to draw you in, then changed back once he got you alone. Brown hair, sorta tall. Any of this ringing a bell?”

Shouyou recoils, because _yeah_ it rings a bell – hardly fucking likely that he would forget someone wearing Kageyama’s face and then shedding it, becoming someone entirely different in less than an instant.

“Yeah,” he says, tersely. “I remember.”

Kindaichi looks unsurprised. “Okay. How much did he say? Did he explain what we need you for? Why you’re here?”

Shouyou shakes his head, trying to think. “No… no. He said you need my help. That he wouldn’t have tricked me if he’d had a choice.” He scowls and tries not to add, _As if_.

Kindaichi nods. “Well, then, I’ll give you the abbreviated version, and then I’ll bring you up to talk to First Mate Iwaizumi. He’ll be able to explain it better than me—”

“What about the Grand King?”

Kindaichi blinks, taken aback. Shouyou folds his arms over his chest.

“The Grand King. Your captain. Why doesn’t _he_ speak to me? He’s the one that kidnapped me. Oh, yeah, and burned my home to the ground.”

Kindaichi’s mouth twists, something unreadable passing across his expression. “Captain Oikawa,” he says, “is not someone you should _want_ to talk to.”

“Why not?” Shouyou says, stubbornly, keeping his eyes locked with Kindaichi’s.

“Because he’s barely human anymore,” Kindaichi says, shortly.

Shouyou freezes.

“First Mate Iwaizumi will explain everything,” Kindaichi continues, and now he’s talking about energy and sunlight and Shouyou’s internal strength, or something. Shouyou’s half-listening, but he’s also half-not. He’s also turning the concept of _barely human_ over in his mind.

Shouyou says, “Um.”

Kindaichi’s nose scrunches up. It sort of reminds Shouyou, just a little, of Kageyama, and that pisses him off.

“If you aren’t listening…” Kindaichi begins, looking distressed.

“Why are you normal?”

Kindaichi’s voice dies in his throat. “What do you mean?” he finally asks.

“You know.” Shouyou waves a hand. “No shadows. No blackness. Just… normal. Why?”

Kindaichi opens his mouth. Closes it. Fixes his gaze on his feet. “Nishinoya Yuu,” he says.

“ _What_?”

“We thought Nishinoya might be… We thought he might be an option to seal the Nether. Like you. And he is. Or, he was, I guess. Just not as powerful.”

Kindaichi winces expressively. “I’m the youngest on the crew. The captain decided to test Nishinoya’s light out on me… to see if I could be healed. He said I still had my whole life ahead of me. That I deserved recourse for his mistakes. And it worked, and I’m healed, but Nishinoya… was really, really scarred. Blackness all around his stomach and chest… If we tried it again, he probably would’ve died. We had to let him go.”

“You hurt him to help you,” Shouyou points out, coldly. “Why all of a sudden worry about morals?”

“We don’t want to hurt _anyone_ ,” Kindaichi says. “We want to save the world. We want to fix this mess—”

“A mess _you_ made,” Shouyou says. “And if healing _one person_ hurt Noya-san like that, then what makes you think that I’ll be able to fix the Nether at all? You don’t even know that I really have got this power in the first place!”

“You’ve already healed people, though,” Kindaichi says, looking surprised. “Maybe you don’t remember? Your light removed the shadows from Yahaba and Kyoutani, and all you’ve got to show for it is a handprint and a couple extra hours of sleep.”

And oh.

_Oh_.

Shouyou does remember. He remembers the angry-looking one touching his shoulder, he remembers the cave bursting into inexplicable, sudden light, he remembers a weird feeling of vertigo before it all went dark.

“You said your first mate could explain,” Shouyou says. “Take me to him.”

Kindaichi says, “Okay.”

 

At the border between dream and reality, the sea catches fire.

It is nothing like Shouyou has ever seen before. Impossible doesn’t _begin_ to cover it. Flames lick at _Seijoh_ ’s hull instead of waves, insistent and rhythmic, setting the black wood of the ship alight. Colors dance off _Seijoh_ ’s sides, off the mast, off the sails, yellow-gold and scarlet-orange and heavy, smooth purple.

It is like standing inside fire. Shouyou thinks this is probably what it feels like to burn alive.

Around him, _Seijoh_ ’s crew works.

This would feel normal, if it wasn’t so profoundly _wrong_. The pirates go through the motions exactly as Shouyou has been trained to do, every single day of his life since he began basic training. But there is an otherness about them, an unnatural grace in the way they move. Plus, they are all surrounded by shadows, like an aura.

Shouyou’s gaze catches with a boy a little taller than him, with a shaved head and a round face. The boy smiles brightly, and then his eyes flicker black.

Shouyou shudders. Kindaichi says, “Come on.”

They find Iwaizumi Hajime at the helm, standing with one hand gripping the wheel and the other resting on the hilt of his sword. He is shorter and broader than Shouyou was expecting, with short, messy hair and a serious expression. His shadows inch across his face, twist around his throat, and when he looks up to watch them approach, his outline blurs briefly. Just for a moment.

Like he’s fading.

“Hinata, right?” Iwaizumi asks, and when Shouyou nods, he smiles a little wryly and adds, “I’d shake your hand, but I hear that would put you out of commission for a couple days.”

Shouyou scowls at him and says nothing.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Yeah, that’s fair. I’ll explain everything to you, Hinata, don’t worry. But please, before I start… Can you tell me how Kageyama is?”

And Shouyou is blindingly, _viciously_ angry for a moment, because who the _fuck_ is this man to ask after Kageyama’s well-being after allowing him to be threatened and humiliated and left for the crows? Who the fuck is this man to pretend he cares about Kageyama, after all this time, after all these slights? Who the fuck is this man to act like Kageyama matters to him, when he is part of the reason that Kageyama looks so broken and small and lonely when he thinks no one’s looking?

He opens his mouth, the words _none of your damn business_ ready and waiting on his tongue.

And then.

_“When I was five, a man named Iwaizumi Hajime saved my life. He found me on the side of the road. Took me in.”_

Oh.

Shouyou says, “You saved him.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot up. “He talked about me,” he says, but it sounds like a question, and, with a suddenness that is almost jarring, Shouyou is seized by a violent feeling of gratitude. Almost strong enough to make him forget just how lost and frustrated and _infuriated_ he is.

(Almost.)

“He did,” Shouyou says. “He also talked about how you left him to die after he saved my life.”

Iwaizumi’s gaze doesn’t falter, but a flash of pain passes over his expression.

“He’s not alone anymore, though,” he says, a little weakly, almost like he’s expecting Shouyou to contradict him.

“You’re damn right he’s not,” Shouyou says, sharply.

Both Iwaizumi and Kindaichi look absolutely floored. They exchange glances that sort of make Shouyou want to punch a wall.

“Sir,” Kindaichi says, “we should tell him what the plan is.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, reaching up to rub his temple. “Yeah, all right. Essentially, Hinata, we need to use your light to seal the tear in the Nether. The thing is, to do that, it means we have to go directly to the source. So we’re sailing back to the island that houses the Fountain of Youth.”

Shouyou grimaces.

“I know,” Iwaizumi says. “Trust me, I would never bring us there if I had another choice. But even if we get rid of the darkness that’s already seeped into this reality, it won’t stop the tear from allowing more to pass through, you know?”

Shouyou narrows his eyes. The horizon here warps if you look at it for too long. It makes his stomach turn.

“If,” he says, slowly, “we do this. If I try to… to seal the Nether and… and stop the darkness, or whatever. What happens to me?”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes. He murmurs, “We’re not… sure, exactly,” and his grip on his sword tightens, and Shouyou knows.

Shouyou knows.

“I die,” he says.

Kindaichi’s face has gone pale. Iwaizumi’s shadows have stilled.

“We don’t know that,” Iwaizumi rasps, his voice breaking a little. “You’re really, really powerful, Hinata. You might live.”

“I might,” Shouyou says. “I might not.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, those strange, empty eyes focused on Shouyou’s face. And then he confirms, “No. You might not.”

“You’re our last hope,” Kindaichi says, low and fervent. “The monsters are only going to get worse. The attacks, the destruction, the warping of reality… with every single day that passes, they get worse. You can stop it.”

“I can stop it,” Shouyou repeats. He is numb. He cannot think.

_This is Hinata Shouyou, and he is going to save us all_.

“It is the only way,” Iwaizumi murmurs. “Believe me, I would never ask this of you if it wasn’t. But this… what we’re trying to do… It’s the last thing that matters. It’s the only thing that matters. It’s the only way to keep this plane of reality from being destroyed.”

Shouyou says, “Oh,” and his voice is very, very small, and his eyes hurt, and no, no, he will _not_ let himself cry here.

He will not.

He will not.

“You might live,” Iwaizumi repeats. “You need to trust in yourself and your own strength.”

_My strength is not enough_ , he thinks. _My strength has never been enough_.

“Do I have a choice?” Shouyou finally manages.

Iwaizumi winces. “We will give you one,” he says. “The universe might not.”

 

(Shouyou lays awake for a long time that night, rocked gently by the too-even waves, trying to picture being dead. The images won’t come, though. Instead, he just keeps seeing Kageyama’s smile.)

 

He sleeps.

 

A boy with dark hair and eyes the color of a thunderstorm stands at the helm of a ship. The sea is choppy, waves beating up against the ship’s hull, but the boy doesn’t move. He stands, stock-still, staring out at the horizon, searching for the unfindable.

“I don’t see anything,” a voice points out, dry and testy, behind him. “We’re going in circles.”

The boy doesn’t turn around; doesn’t so much as twitch in response. His chest feels cold and hollowed out, scraped clean.

It aches.

It aches to breathe. It aches to think, to live. With every move he makes, he is full of the memory of laughter, magnetic and honest and bright.

He is full of the knowledge that it is gone. Because of him.

Because of _him_.

“Don’t… don’t give him such a hard time. He’s trying.”

“I know he’s trying. But he’s already done this once, hasn’t he? It should be easy this time.”

He _knows_ he’s already done it once. He _knows_ it should be easy this time. Especially because with every second they spend trying to pass beyond the confines of this world, the pull towards the Nether grows stronger. It’s seeping darkness, now, staining the sea gray, turning the sky dingy-dark, like it’s cloaked over with smoke.

It should be impossible to miss. And yet he keeps missing it.

He’s _missing_ something.

He doesn’t know what it is.

“Kageyama? How did you find it last time, do you remember?” the second voice asks, much more gently than the first one. “There must be some sort of trick. A step we need to take, a boundary we need to pass through…”

“Shit,” Kageyama mutters. “Shit. Shit. _Shit_.”

A boundary. That rings a bell, he thinks. He presses his eyes shut, tries to reconstruct the memory that’s tugging on his fingertips. It’s hard, though – he was just a kid when they crossed into the Nether the first time, and, in the wake of everything that happened…

Well. He didn’t exactly have time to draw himself a map.

_Think, think, think_.

When he came here for the first time, he was following Watari’s instructions. _Seijoh_ ’s crew was full of specialists, famous for being the kingdom’s absolute brightest and best, and Watari Shinji could navigate you straight out of hell if you asked him to. He figured out the nuances of the Nether, what made it tick, where the weak points were, until finally, together with Iwaizumi, they figured out—

“There is no border,” Kageyama mumbles now, digging his fingers into the bannister in front of him. “There wasn’t anything distinct, anyway. We just kept sailing until…”

“Until you were lost,” Tsukishima supplies.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well, we’re lost. So I guess we’re well on our way, then,” Tsukishima says testily, and Kageyama hears Yamaguchi whisper something to him. Tsukishima mutters back.

The bannister snaps, splinters under Kageyama’s fingers. He flinches back, pulling his hands away sharply.

One of his fingers is bleeding, but the blood looks black.

_Wake up_.

 

Kageyama dreams, but he does not dream of _him_. He’s not sure if that would be a cruelty or a kindness, anyway. Instead, his nightmares are full of all the monsters he’d imagined for himself as a kid – abandonment, loneliness, emptiness, silence. He wakes up gasping for breath, hard enough to hurt, and he _knows_ Tsukishima and Yamaguchi can hear him. Neither of them says anything, though, so Kageyama rolls over in his bunk and tries to even out his breathing.

It doesn’t work.

He didn’t expect it to.

 

_Hey, are you listening? Wake up._

 

The attack is sudden and horrifying, completely out of nowhere. One moment the sea is peaceful, and the next it is frothing, boiling. Tentacles shoot out from the waves, built from nothing more substantial than darkness.

Kageyama draws his sword, absolutely _thrilled_ at the prospect of being able to fight something – anything to get out of his own head. But Yamaguchi grabs his arm before he can hack away at the nearest tentacle.

“That won’t do any good,” Yamaguchi says, and his face is pale and terrified, but his voice is steady and firm. Kageyama’s, begrudgingly, a little impressed. “They have a single spot on their body where they’re more solid. Their… their earthly tether, I think Captain Kuroo called it. We need to find that and strike there.”

Tsukishima says, immediately, “The back of the head,” and Kageyama hones in on the way the darkness there is just a little darker, a little less translucent.

“So what’s our plan of attack, then?” Yamaguchi asks, but Kageyama is done with plans. They’ve never done him any good.

“Let’s kill it,” he says, like it’s obvious. And then he shoots a quick look at Yamaguchi and Tsukishima over his shoulder; they’re staring at him like he’s a madman, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and for the first time in a long time, Kageyama feels like himself again.

After that, he is in motion, swinging himself up onto the mizzenmast and grabbing a rope. The creature turns its attention towards him as he hauls himself up, until he and the beast are about eye level. A tentacle slams down inches away from where he’d been hanging a second ago. Adrenaline pumps through his veins.

Kageyama grins.

“Come get me,” he says, which is probably stupid and unnecessary, since there’s no way this shadow-beast has the power of speech. It works, though – the monster lunges down just as Kageyama lunges up.

It ends like this: with Kageyama’s sword sticking out of the thing’s skull, as it drips liquid shadow onto his arm. The monster vaporizes, dissipates around him like smoke on the wind, but the damage is done. Shadow bleeds black down his forearm, towards his fingertips.

He drops back down to the deck and lands lightly on his toes.

“That was really, really cool, Kageyama,” Yamaguchi says, smiling, his eyes wide.

Tsukishima says, “ _Tsk_.”

 

_Come on, now, we don’t have much time. Wake up!_

 

“Kageyama? Hey, are you awake? You’re going to want to see this.”

As they pass into the Nether, the sea turns to flame. Kageyama remembers this part, from the first time. He thinks he was probably awe-struck, back when he was a kid, arriving here for the first time. He thinks he probably found the fire beautiful, the improbability of it, the way the colors reminded him of a sunset.

It reminds him of something else, now.

They stand on the deck of their little ship, the three of them, shoulder-to-shoulder. Yamaguchi is staring out at the sea. Tsukishima is staring at Yamaguchi. Kageyama hugs his arms around himself, rubbing at the ache in his forearm, and tries not to think.

“Kageyama,” Yamaguchi says.

Kageyama stiffens and directs his gaze to his feet.

Yamaguchi’s hand finds Kageyama’s sleeve. “Are you okay?” he asks, quietly.

Kageyama frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

Yamaguchi winces. “I mean, how are you holding up? I know… I know Hinata means a lot to you. We’re going to get him back.”

“I know,” Kageyama says, matter-of-fact. Because he does know. He knows he will not let himself rest until he’s got Hinata back. He made a promise – to keep Hinata safe, to keep him alive.

He intends to keep it.

 

_Hinata Shouyou. I’m serious. We need to talk. Wake_ up.

 

The Nether, Kageyama thinks, is mocking him.

Just as he begins to consider the possibility that they must be getting close to the island, they sail into a horrible, cloying fog that settles in over everything. It feels like it clings to every cell in Kageyama’s body. They press on – they don’t have any other choice – but the mist is… disturbing. It’s shadowy. Haunted by specters and by darkness.

Kageyama sees things. Shapes, in the gloom. People. Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime and Sugawara Koushi.

He calls out to Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.

Neither of them call back.

This mist is too thick. Too heavy to think.

He’s dizzy.

And tired.

His eyes are heavy.

His head cracks against the deck of the boat when he falls.

 

_Shouyou, please. Wake up, now. Wake up._

 

“…Kageyama? Kageyama-kun? _Kageyama-san_?”

Kageyama sits bolt upright, his eyes flying open, alert and awake faster than he ever has been in his life. The mist is still heavy, heavy, heavy, but it’s beginning to let up, to lessen. The first thing he sees is a crown of orange-gold, catching rays of sunlight that Kageyama can’t even see.

“No,” he rasps. “No, it can’t be you. It’s not possible.”

“Wow, gee, thanks. It’s nice to see you, too.”

Hinata crouches down in front of him, a smile pulling at his mouth as he meets Kageyama’s eyes. He looks unharmed, no trace of shadow or darkness staining his skin. His clothing clean, his eyes bright, his expression clear.

Exactly as Kageyama left him, that day on the beach. When he went to go try and stick a sword inside Oikawa Tooru’s chest.

_I left you_ , Kageyama thinks. _I let them take you. You’re not here. You can’t be here_.

“Kageyama?” Hinata repeats, reaching forward to brush Kageyama’s bangs off his face. When Kageyama flinches backwards a little, Hinata presses the palm of his hand against Kageyama’s forehead. His skin feels cool against Kageyama’s, his hands steady and familiar. “Are you okay? You look kind of sick.”

“How… did you get here?” Kageyama manages, reaching up to grab Hinata’s wrist, pull it away from his face. He holds it gently, though. Almost reverently. Hinata’s warm underneath Kageyama’s fingertips. “What happened?”

Hinata shrugs. “Not sure. I guess they decided they didn’t need me after all? Maybe they figured out using me like that would kill me? I don’t really know. Either way, though, they left me here, and then the next thing I knew, you’d turned up! Amazing, right?”

“I,” Kageyama says. And then he stops.

Pauses.

Thinks.

“Okay,” Kageyama says, slowly. Trying to think, trying to process. “All right.” And then, “What do you think of… what happened with Asahi-san and Nishinoya-san?”

“Oh, I’m happy for them! I know Noya-san’s liked Asahi-san for _ages_ ,” Hinata is chirping, that easy, natural smile spreading across his face. Kageyama barely hears it, though. His blood has turned to stone.

_No._

_No, no, no_.

He releases Hinata’s wrist and gets to his feet. Slowly. Carefully. His hand creeping as gradually as possible to the sword he wears at his waist.

“Kageyama?” Hinata asks, his eyes wide and confused. “What’s wrong?”

He stands, and God – God, this looks like Hinata. Same mechanisms, same abrupt motions, same copper-light eyes. He reaches up to touch Kageyama’s face, and the feeling is incredibly, torturously familiar – an exact replica of the way he touched Kageyama that day outside Moniwa’s house, when they sat close enough to kiss.

Too familiar.

It feels exactly the same.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I’m here. We’re safe, now, okay? I’m safe.” And then his touch trails down, fingers pressing against the base of Kageyama’s jaw, and his gaze has become… something else. Running down Kageyama’s face. Landing on his lips.

“Kageyama,” he says, and his voice is a little lower, a little rougher than usual.

And, God. God, does Kageyama want this. God, has he wanted it since he was thirteen, digging a boy built from fire out of the wreckage of a town of ash. He wanted it then, and he wanted it every year in between, and he wants it now – he wants it even _more_ now, with the knowledge of Hinata’s fierce kindness and his loyalty and his rashness and his strange, unruly ambition, all rattling around inside his mind.

Kageyama’s stomach twists.

“Tobio,” Hinata says. It is almost a whine.

Kageyama yanks his face away. Stumbles backwards several steps, yanking his sword out of its scabbard, pointing it directly at Hinata’s throat. Fury is screaming through him, venomous and electric, twisting painfully in his veins and turning his body to fire.

“Stay back,” he snarls. “Stay away from me.”

Hinata looks horrified, and it makes Kageyama’s heart feel like it’s been squeezed. Shattered. “What’s wrong?” he pleads, taking a step forward with an outstretched hand. “Kageyama?”

Kageyama snarls and leans forward, close enough that his sword nicks the soft skin of Hinata’s throat.

“You’re not him,” he says.

Something is changing in Hinata’s face. The open affection is draining, leaving something chillier, angrier in its place. When he says, “What are you talking about?” his voice is still light, but there is an undercurrent of ice underneath.

“You’re not him,” Kageyama repeats. “You’re not Hinata.”

There is a moment of silence in which the two stare at each other, Kageyama’s sword resting against the hollow of Hinata’s throat, Hinata’s eyes boring into Kageyama’s skin. And then Hinata chuckles, softly, just once.

“Oh, dear,” he croons, and his voice is not Hinata’s voice – his voice is nothing human, a thousand different voices all layered and twisted and packed into one. “You caught me. I thought I was playing this one perfectly, too.”

Kageyama snarls. Hinata’s eyes shake, shudder in his skull.

And then they flash crimson.

Kageyama presses forward with his sword, hard enough to draw a single bead of strange, silvery blood from not-Hinata’s throat. “What are you?” he demands, sharp, steady. “Explain.”

Not-Hinata tilts his head, looking up at Kageyama with heavy-lidded eyes and a small, sultry smile that makes Kageyama’s chest burn. “You don’t know?” he croons.

Kageyama recoils. “Stop that. Answer me.”

Not-Hinata pouts. “Ah, you’re no fun, Kageyama-kun. There are lots of names for me, I suppose. In lots of different languages, and lots of different worlds. Humans, though… you call me _siren_.”

Kageyama’s blood goes cold.

“…Hinata’s face. How did you – how the _fuck_ did you—?”

“Your memories.” Not-Hinata’s face warps into a nasty smile. “That’s how this works, you know. You give, I take. It’s nothing personal.”

Kageyama spits at the siren’s feet.

Not-Hinata’s smile twists into a sneer. “How childish, Kageyama-kun. So sorry, but I’m afraid I am going to be killing you, now. Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep Hinata Shouyou’s face. And, after all, I’m generous. In the end, I’ll even let you scream his name—”

The sword goes cleanly into the siren’s throat. One push. His eyes go wide, then blank, and then Hinata’s face curdles and blackens and flakes away completely, leaving behind a scaly, half-human, half-fish monstrosity of a beast. Its teeth are the size of Kageyama’s hand. The mist is dissipating, too – he can see Yamaguchi and Tsukishima’s shapes emerging from the fog.

“Fuck,” Kageyama says, surprisingly calmly. And then he curls into a ball, presses his forehead to his knees, and sobs.

 

_It’s rude to spy, you know, Shouyou._

_Wake up._

_It’s time_.

 

Shouyou falls back to himself with a suddenness that makes him nauseous.

He is sitting in the empty barracks, wrapped in his blankets, everything in the room exactly how he left it, and Akaashi Keiji is sitting at his bedside. He’s incredibly distinct now – only evers-so-slightly shadowed, his form clear enough to make out the features of his face and the precise movement of his fingers as they drum lightly on his knee.

“Spectating?” Akaashi says, but there is sympathy on his face.

“He came after me,” Shouyou says. His hands are shaking. He can’t get the siren’s face – his own face – out of his mind. “He’s hurt because of me. Again.”

“He’s not,” Akaashi murmurs.

Shouyou opens his mouth to retort, but Akaashi just puts a gentle hand on Shouyou’s shoulder. Right over the handprint the angry pirate left.

“Shouyou. Listen to me. Sometimes we make sacrifices for the people we love. Sometimes we hurt for them. But it’s our choice. Kageyama Tobio has always chosen you. Over everything. Over anything. He has always chosen you.”

Shouyou’s heart feels broken. Seared.

Ruined.

“I’m never going to see him again,” he says.

Akaashi goes still.

“You knew this was going to happen,” Shouyou says. Accuses. “When you told me I was going to save the world, you meant it would happen like this. With me dying.”

Akaashi blinks at him, slow and steady. Shouyou takes that as a yes.

“Fuck you,” he says, and then, much more angrily, “ _Fuck_ you. You people all seem to think I have so much power. So who says I can’t do this without dying? Who says I’m not strong enough to do it and live?”

Akaashi’s mouth tugs up a little at the corner, and there is something a little fond in the way he looks at Shouyou. “You might be strong enough,” he says. “We don’t know. It’s impossible to tell until we try.”

“Then I’m going to live,” Shouyou decides. “If there’s a chance, then I’m going to.”

Akaashi’s mouth turns up in a very small, almost _fond_ smile. “You remind me of Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. “He was angry with me, too, you know. Neither of us want you to die.”

_I don’t want to die._

_God, god._

I don’t want to die.

“I’m afraid,” Shouyou admits quietly, and as soon as he says it, the feeling is all-consuming. It is everything he is and everything he was. He wants to go home. He wants to hold his sister. He wants to shake Daichi’s hand, thank him for everything. He wants to hug Yachi and bicker with Tsukishima.

He wants to kiss the frown off Kageyama Tobio’s face.

_“I’m scared.”_

_“Not really. Not yet.”_

“I’m really, really afraid,” he repeats, and his voice shakes helplessly.

“I know,” Akaashi says.

“I’m not ready,” he whispers.

“You are,” Akaashi says.

 

This time, when he wakes, the darkness is gone immediately, like sunlight after a rainstorm. Shouyou is lying on his bunk on _Seijoh_ , and the blankets are knotted around his legs again, and there is a knocking at the door.

He scrambles out of bed and yanks it open, half-expecting to see Akaashi, or Bokuto, or Kageyama. Instead, Kindaichi looks at him with wide, anxious eyes.

“Hinata? Sorry, but you should come abovedecks. We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //gentle chanting reunion chapter reunioN cHApter reUNION CHAPTER REUNiON C-


	14. the earth has guilt, the earth has care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion, dissolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some small sexy stuff in this chapter! If that makes you uncomfy, skip from "Yours look like summer," to "The sky bleeds gray."

When they see the island for the first time, the first thing Tadashi thinks is that he must be asleep, because this is not a place that should be real.

This is a nightmare.

The island is desolate, ashy, like the shell of a place destroyed by a fire. It is shrouded in darkness, black mist hanging over the beaches and clinging to the spindly, gnarled trees like smoke. It makes the island gloomy and obscured, hard to describe.

But it’s not dark enough to mask the enormous, wavering column of black that extends up from the treeline and punches a hole through the sky, bleeding darkness across the clouds. Probably nothing in the world is enough to mask that.

It wavers and hisses and it hurts to look at.

“That must be the tear,” Kei says, quietly, beside him.

For a second the thought crosses Tadashi’s mind, absurdly, that the tear is glowing. Only, that’s not possible, because it’s made of shadow itself.

No, it’s not glowing. It’s more like a complete, utter black.

A perfect black.

 _Oh, hell_ , Tadashi thinks.

The fire that has licked across the waves and lit their path so far is long gone by now, faded to nothing. It has been replaced by a strange, stale wind and whispers, whispers, whispers. Filling up Tadashi’s mind. He thinks the voices sound familiar. He remembers the cadence of one of them, close against his ear:

 _This is Hinata Shouyou, and he is going to save us all_.

Tadashi’s hands curl into fists.

An arm bumps against his, just briefly, just for a split second. Tadashi allows himself to look up at Kei – he has given himself strict restrictions on Kei-looking, for the sake of his own sanity – but Kei doesn’t react. He’s staring out at the nightmare, his face studiously blank.

Tadashi shuffles a half a step closer. Their arms bump again. Kei doesn’t move.

“That’s it,” Kageyama says, behind them, and Tadashi can _feel_ Kei opening his mouth to respond (probably with something along the lines of _no shit_ ), but then they both realize what he’s talking about. Not the nightmare. There’s a ship approaching the island, almost as dark as the shadows behind it, sailing two flags: one pitch-dark and marked with a skull and crossbones, the other blue as the sky they cannot see.

“ _Seijoh_ ,” Kageyama says, and his voice is low and vibrating with fury.

“It doesn’t look like they’ve anchored yet,” Kei says, squinting at the too-even movement of the ship.

“Which means Hinata’s still on board.” Tadashi squeezes his hands tighter for a split second before straightening and turning to face Kageyama. He reaches out, knocks his knuckles against Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama’s eyes widen.

“Let’s get him back,” Tadashi says.

Kageyama’s expression steadies, pressing into a small line, and he gives a fierce and decisive nod. Tadashi thinks he might be smiling a little bit, which is nice – Kageyama hasn’t done much smiling since they left Date Kougyou.

“Hang on,” Kei says, and then Tadashi’s insides bloom warm as he sets his hand on Tadashi’s shoulder, just for a moment. “We don’t even know Hinata’s on that ship anymore. Maybe they took him somewhere else. Maybe—”

“He’s there,” Tadashi interrupts, firmly. Kei blinks down at him, one eyebrow lifting in surprise. Tadashi feels himself flushing but repeats, “He’s there. I can feel him.”

Hinata’s presence has always been an unmistakable one, in dream and reality alike. He burns with a brightness that Tadashi’s never seen before, and that he doubts he’ll ever see again.

Kageyama nods. “I feel him, too. And…” He pauses, his face turned upwards towards the sky. “I feel something else. I don’t know. The Nether seems… angry.”

Tadashi freezes.

Kei frowns. “Angry,” he echoes. “Can you elaborate on that?”

Kageyama winces expressively. “I dunno,” he mumbles. “It’s… the air feels different from last time I was here. It’s… charged. I dunno.”

He sounds frustrated with himself, his lips turned downward and the toe of his boot scuffing at the deck, and Tadashi feels a surprising rush of fondness for him. Him and Kei both, as Kei squints at Kageyama incredulously, exasperatedly, with an expression that’s still a bit new to Tadashi but obviously not new to Kei’s face.

“Maybe,” Tadashi finally volunteers, turning away so that he’s staring out at the island. “Maybe the darkness senses him here and knows it can’t win.”

“Maybe,” Kei affirms, a little reluctantly.

“Maybe,” Kageyama mutters.

They exchange glances, Kei skeptical, Tadashi nervous, Kageyama burning with a light that Tadashi recognizes all too well.

“Okay,” Kei says, finally. “Let’s do this.”

 

Shouyou thought, when he first found himself face-to-face with the entirety of _Seijoh_ ’s crew, he’d be scared out of his mind. The few encounters he’s had with individual crewmembers up until now haven’t exactly been heartening. He’s expecting featureless faces and cruel snarls and maybe even fangs, he’s not sure.

But now he’s looking out at them, at all of them, and he’s sort of thinking that maybe they’re all little more human than he thought.

There’s Kindaichi and Kyoutani, both shadowless but still black-clad and scowly. Kindaichi runs through the introductions while Kyoutani glowers at the shape-shifter’s side. When Shouyou meets Kyoutani’s stare, Kyoutani shifts from foot to foot for a moment before bending into a quick, shallow bow. Shouyou blinks in surprise. Kyoutani carefully avoids meeting his eyes, after that.

Those two seem decidedly normal, marred by no hint of the shadows that used to cloak them. That’s to be expected, Shouyou thinks. But the others—the ones still dripping in darkness—it turns out that they’re human, too. Really, really human.

 _That’s_ surprising. That’s information Shouyou doesn’t know what to do with.

There’s Iwaizumi, who holds his hands on his hips as he listens, whose shadows occasionally part to reveal a strong jaw and striking eyes. Watari, who constantly lifts himself up and down on the balls of his feet, like he’s excited or nervous or both. Yahaba, the shape-shifter, who knocks his elbow against Kyoutani’s and smiles when Kyoutani frowns.

There’s Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who keep muttering to each other and then sniggering in a way that makes Shouyou feel like their whole universe is a joke he’s not in on.

Kunimi, slight and deadpan, with his terrible, terrible middle-parted hair. Kindaichi smiles brightly at him, sometimes. Sometimes, he smiles back.

Human, all of them. Or, at least, all more human than not. And suddenly, years of fear and anger and disgust are fading away, and that’s… well. That’s scary. That’s _terrifying_.

Shouyou doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

“Have you made a decision?” Iwaizumi asks him. Gently, Shouyou thinks. It’s hard to figure out Iwaizumi’s expressions, partially because of the shadows obscuring his face but mostly because he always looks at least a little pissed off.

“Yes,” Shouyou says, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I’ll do it.”

“Well, that was easier than you’d led me to believe, Iwa-chan,” another voice, a new voice, drawls behind him. Shouyou spins automatically, thoughtlessly.

And then he freezes.

“Hello, there,” Oikawa purrs, lowering himself so that he and Shouyou are at eye level. “It’s been awhile, shrimpy.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Oh, he sees, now. Why they say Oikawa Tooru is barely human.

It is not that Oikawa is more or less shadowy than the others, because he isn’t. His eyes are just as black, his outline just as wavering, his skin just as obscured. In fact, Shouyou thinks he might be able to see _more_ of Oikawa’s face than the others’. He’s handsome in a pointed way. In a dangerous way.

The reason Oikawa feels different—the reason he feels _wrong_ —it is that he exudes… nothingness. A void. The air around him feels empty.

Like he’s trying to punch a hole through this world and burst into the next.

Shouyou makes a small squeaking sound in his throat.

Oikawa grins at him. His eyes make Shouyou feel empty.

He takes a staggering step backwards.

“Stop acting like a villain,” Iwaizumi barks, swiping at the back of Oikawa’s head. “You’re freaking him out.”

Oikawa’s expression changes instantly, his shoulders sloping downwards, his lips curving into a pout. “So mean, Iwa-chan,” he whines. “What’s the point in being a pirate captain if I don’t get to be both intimidating and dashingly handsome?”

Iwaizumi looks irate. “Listen, Shittykawa,” he growls through clenched teeth. “Your fucking nonsense is what got us into this mess, and we wouldn’t even _be_ pirates in the first place if it wasn’t for you and your shitty-ass ideas—”

“Mean, Iwa-chan! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“You’re such a child.”

“ _You’re_ such a bully—”

Yahaba delicately clears his throat. Iwaizumi and Oikawa both go still.

“Sorry, Hinata,” Iwaizumi says immediately, inclining his head. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

“You would know,” Matsukawa says. Hanamaki slaps him a high-five and roars with laughter.

Oikawa sticks his tongue out at them and tosses his head before turning back to face Shouyou. The danger in his aura has faded, now, replaced by something else. Charisma, maybe? Humor? Shouyou isn’t sure.

“Do you see what I have to deal with, here?” he says, taking on a tone of long-suffering bereavement.

Shouyou hesitates, then says, “It’s… terrible?”

Oikawa points at him triumphantly. “It is! I knew I liked you for a reason.” He shoots another petulant look at Iwaizumi before jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the column of darkness extending up from the island. “Right, so, this isn’t overly complex. Essentially, all we need to do is seal the tear. From what I’ve heard, you’re a pretty powerful piece of work, so I’m… what do you think, Iwa-chan? Eighty percent sure it’ll work.”

“Seventy-five,” Iwaizumi corrects.

“ _Maybe_ seventy-six, on a good day,” Hanamaki says.

Shouyou frowns. “And if I fail?”

Oikawa waves an airy hand. “You die, the tear is mostly fixed, and we find someone who can finish the job. Ah, but that should be your last resort, you know. It was hard enough to find you in the first place.”

“You found me when I was thirteen,” Shouyou mutters.

Oikawa looks wounded. “Sure, but we didn’t know what we were looking for! Also I was a little preoccupied with the vicious betrayal by my very own most precious cabin boy.”

Shouyou’s frown deepens. “If you’re talking about Kageyama—”

“Of _course_ I’m talking about Kageyama.” Oikawa shrugs and offers another jagged grin. “Don’t worry, though, I’m over it now. It’s all in the past, and, anyway, I’ve figured out what he saw in you.”

What he saw in you.

 _My power_ , Shouyou realizes, and that _hurts_ – the idea that Kageyama has only ever wanted him, only ever protected him, because he knew that it would end like this.

“I,” Shouyou begins.

Oikawa winks.

“If I die,” Shouyou tries again, his voice stronger this time, “I won’t be able to cure you.” He turns his gaze to the rest of the crew. “Any of you. You’ll be stuck like this.”

“We know,” Iwaizumi says. Watari smiles kindly at him. Kyoutani’s hand bumps Yahaba’s. “We’ve weighed the consequences. Don’t worry, Hinata. We know what this’ll cost.”

Oikawa’s face falls slightly, his demeanor deflating. “If we’re going to do this,” he says, his voice a little sharper than before, “we need to do it quick. The Nether’s getting antsy.”

“Okay,” Shouyou says. “Okay, let’s—”

“Hang on,” Watari says abruptly. “Is that a ship?”

The whole crew goes silent, all of them turning in tandem to stare off to _Seijoh_ ’s side. For a second, something burning and incendiary goes off in Shouyou’s chest—hope—but then he sees the ship, and it’s not _Karasuno_. In fact, it’s barely a ship at all.

“A fishing barge?” Kindaichi says incredulously. “How?”

“They must’ve gotten lost,” Watari says, slowly, but he doesn’t sound like he believes what he’s saying. That type of vessel is built for shallow waters. For shorelines and clear skies.

“Do you think there’s anyone alive on it?” Yahaba asks.

“Well, as they’re flagging us down, I’m assuming so,” Oikawa points out dryly.

The barge pulls up alongside _Seijoh_ , close enough to clearly see three men standing on the deck, all wrapped in hooded cloaks, hugging their arms around themselves. One of them waves and says, in a strange, rickety voice, “We’re stranded down here! You wouldn’t happen to have any extra provisions?”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa exchange looks. Oikawa rolls his eyes. Iwaizumi gives the order.

 _Seijoh_ extends the gangplank and the fishermen clamber on board, each bowing in thanks as they step onto _Seijoh_ ’s deck.

Iwaizumi asks, “How did you guys manage to get out here?”

“To tell the truth,” the creaky-voiced fisherman says, “We were looking for you.”

Only, now his voice is changing. It isn’t creaky anymore. In fact, it’s really, really familiar. _Painfully_ familiar. It sort of sounds like…

Yamaguchi?

 _Seijoh_ ’s crew immediately drops into defensive stances. Some of them—Kyoutani, Kindaichi—go for their weapons. Oikawa smiles and doesn’t move at all.

“Well, now,” he croons. “This _is_ a surprise.”

And then one of the other fishermen lifts his hood off, and his eyes meet Shouyou’s.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says.

Shouyou is moving before he fully processes, sprinting across the deck and launching himself into Kageyama’s arms. Kageyama catches him, stumbling a couple steps backward, his hands curving warm below Shouyou’s thighs, his head coming down to drop on Shouyou’s shoulder. Shouyou is maybe crying a little. He’s not sure. He knows his fingers are clutching at Kageyama’s shoulders, his back, curling in the silky-fine hair at the nape of his neck.

“Sorry,” Kageyama mumbles, his face still buried in Shouyou’s shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Tobio,” Shouyou says.

“Shouyou,” Kageyama whispers back.

Shouyou’s hands find Kageyama’s face, gently tilt his head up so that Shouyou can rest his forehead against Kageyama’s. Kageyama is staring at him, beautiful and breathless, and all Shouyou can think to say is, “I guess I couldn’t keep my promise.”

Kageyama blinks. “I… don’t—?”

“I promised you I’d stay away from this place, didn’t I?” Shouyou allows himself one last second of contact, his thumbs brushing slowing against Kageyama’s cheekbones, before untangling himself from Kageyama’s limbs and landing nimbly on the deck again. “Things have really gone to hell, huh?”

Kageyama sighs. “No kidding, dumbass.”

Shouyou beams at him for a moment before turning to face the other two fishermen, who have long since taken their hoods off.

“So I guess we’re up to eleven times over, huh?” Shouyou says.

Tsukishima brushes imagined dust off his uniform and lifts an eyebrow. “I think this particular rescue might count for more than one, to be honest.”

Shouyou’s jaw drops. “It does _not_.”

“It _so_ does.”

“You haven’t even saved me, necessarily!”

“No, but I did put my ass on the line for yours. Twelve.”

“Eleven and a half.”

“Twelve and a half.”

“Jerk.”

“Idiot.”

Shouyou sticks his tongue out at Tsukishima. Tsukishima shoots him a look that might be a smile.

Yamaguchi pushes forward and gives Shouyou a quick, fierce hug. “It’s good to see you,” he says.

“You too,” Shouyou responds, and smiles, and if his eyes are maybe a little bit watery when he says, “Thanks,” nobody needs to know.

Then Iwaizumi clears his throat and Shouyou turns back to _Seijoh_ ’s crew.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Shouyou says immediately. “I’ll still do what needs to be done. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“No,” Oikawa says, slowly, and his voice has gone dangerous again. Viscous and creeping. “I know we don’t. What I _am_ worried about, however, is having a mutineer on my ship.” His eyes fix on Kageyama. Kageyama seems to shrink several inches. “Tobio-chan. I believe I told you if you ever set a foot on my ship again, I’d cut it off.”

Kageyama’s shoulders brace. “I’m here for Hinata. That’s all.”

“Yes, that does seem to be a common thread in this relationship, doesn’t it?” Oikawa contemplates his fingernails for a moment before drawing his sword in one long, serpentine movement. “I’ll settle for a couple toes, then.”

He spins his sword in his hand and starts forward, ignoring Iwaizumi’s warning noise and the way his eyes press shut tiredly.

Shouyou steps between Oikawa and Kageyama, right in front of the blade, arms spread wide. Oikawa continues until the tip of his sword meets Shouyou’s chest.

Their eyes lock.

Oikawa bares his teeth.

“Move,” he says, lightly.

“No,” Shouyou answers.

Oikawa opens his mouth furiously, his sword pressing against Shouyou’s chest hard enough for him to feel the sharpness through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“You need me,” Shouyou reminds him, trying very, very hard not to be afraid. “You said so yourself, it’s taken you a decade to find someone who’s strong enough to repair the Nether. You need me. And I won’t let you hurt him. So.”

“So,” Oikawa echoes, looking a mixture of incensed and baffled.

Iwaizumi reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Oikawa keeps staring at him, eyes ignited and furious, for a long moment. Then he lowers his sword, and Shouyou sort of expects a blow, a slap, _something_.

But the corners of Oikawa’s mouth curl up, and he smiles.

It’s startling. A real smile, not a fake one. Complete with softened eyes and relaxing muscles and the shadow of a dimple along the corner of his mouth.

Shouyou blinks.

“All right, shrimpy,” Oikawa says, and then he claps a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder. “I like your guts. Tobio-chan can keep his limbs. But.” He pokes Shouyou’s nose with a finger before wagging it in his face. “He’s not sleeping on my goddamn ship. If you wanna have your damn lovers’ reunion, you can have it on the fishing barge.”

The smile lingers for another split second before his face is back to its usual controlled, sardonic humor. And then he tosses his head and sweeps away, disappearing down the deck. The door to the captain’s quarters slams behind him.

 _Seijoh_ ’s crew immediately deflates in relief.

“Jesus, Kageyama,” Matsukawa says. “You got a death wish or something?”

Kageyama lifts one shoulder. His eyes flick to Shouyou, and then flick away.

Yahaba’s eyes have gone very round. Kyoutani elbows him sharply in the side.

“How did you find us?” Watari asks. He walks over to clap Kageyama on the shoulder, careful to only make contact with the part of his arm that’s got the most layers covering it. “The Nether is a place for losing things, not finding them.”

“We followed Hinata’s energy,” Yamaguchi answers. “I usually feel it in dreams. Kageyama feels it all the time.”

Kindaichi’s expression has become very squinty, and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Iwaizumi steps forward before he can. He places one hand, curled into a fist, above his heart. “Good to see you, Kageyama.”

Kageyama mimics the gesture. “You too, Iwaizumi-san.”

“We sail for the island at dawn,” Iwaizumi continues, his eyes moving to Shouyou. “Be here.”

Shouyou nods and turns to go.

Iwaizumi says, “Try to get some sleep.”

Shouyou does not say, _I will never sleep again_.

 

“Man, they really do hate you, King,” Tsukishima says, reaching for the canteen that’s in Yamaguchi’s hands. He’s a little flushed from the wine, his eyes wide and focused on the sky above their heads. His fingers bump against Yamaguchi’s when he takes the canteen. Shouyou sees him let them linger.

“Shut up,” Kageyama grumbles. “And don’t call me that.” He hasn’t been drinking much, but there’s a new looseness in his limbs, a familiarity in the way Yamaguchi and Tsukishima share his orbit. It’s nice, Shouyou thinks. He is glad Kageyama has found the strength to share himself.

“The stars don’t look right, here,” Yamaguchi says. He takes a swig of wine. A deep breath. “They’re dizzy.”

“Maybe you’re the dizzy one,” Tsukishima answers, but Shouyou sees him look up anyway. Watch the way the stars tumble and fall above their heads.

Dizzy.

Like snow.

Shouyou does not feel drunk. There is wine humming in his veins, but his mind is clear. Ultrasharp. He sees everything in the universe, right then. Everything, everything, spinning above his head.

“If we survive this,” Shouyou says, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to look at him.

Shouyou stretches a hand out and up. Towards the dizzy snow-stars, tumbling through space.

“Ushijima won’t take us back,” Tsukishima says. “We’re traitors to the crown. That’s what he means.”

And Tsukishima is right, but he is wrong. When he was little, Shouyou dreamed of sailing because it was going to give him wings.

He doesn’t know what he dreams of, now. Darkness, he supposes. And the way dawn breaks, little by little, over the sea.

 

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi disappear into the cabin to sleep a couple hours after midnight. There is no wine left, so Shouyou sets the canteen aside.

Kageyama looks at the sky.

Shouyou looks at him.

His hair falls inky and silken into his eyes, dark dark dark against the smooth porcelain of his skin, his eyelashes impossibly black against his cheeks. Shouyou’s eyes follow the lines of his scars, petal-pink. His mouth, turned downward into a frown. The line of his throat. The way the stars turn his eyes into the universe.

“I’m in love with you,” he hears himself say, and the stars steady and stop.

Kageyama’s gaze snaps to Shouyou’s. They have shifted now, to face each other, knees bumping. Shouyou can see a few curves of ink where Kageyama’s tattoo emerges from below his shirt collar. He reaches up and presses his thumb to the spot before he can stop himself. Kageyama’s eyes track his movements.

“When they took you, I thought,” Kageyama begins, his voice very small, and then he stops himself. Clenches his jaw shut.

“You thought,” Shouyou repeats. “What did you think?”

Kageyama shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” His eyes lift and catch with Shouyou’s, and it makes Shouyou’s skin feel electric.

“Your eyes,” Shouyou says, “look like lightning.”

Kageyama looks surprised for a second. Then his expression softens.

“Oh,” he says. And then, “Yours look like summer.”

And then his fingers are on Shouyou’s jaw, soft against the skin below his chin, tilting Shouyou’s face upwards. There is a moment of shared breath, of Kageyama’s eyes tracing down to Shouyou’s mouth.

This is familiar. Impossibly, achingly familiar.

This time, Shouyou leans up and closes the gap.

Kageyama kisses, Shouyou thinks, the way he does absolutely everything else. Determined and focused and precise. Their noses bump briefly, and Kageyama corrects for it. He tips Shouyou’s head back, his breath a soft sigh into Shouyou’s mouth, and Shouyou curls his fingers into Kageyama’s shirt as their lips part. Kageyama’s hands push up, into Shouyou’s hair. His teeth scrape along Shouyou’s bottom lip.

Easy. Like they have been doing this all their lives.

 _I’m kissing Kageyama_ , Shouyou thinks.

 _Why the_ hell _haven’t I been kissing Kageyama before now?_ Shouyou thinks.

 _This is the last time I will ever kiss Kageyama_ , Shouyou thinks.

And then Shouyou does not allow himself to think at all.

After that, there is only Kageyama’s touch on his skin, Kageyama’s mouth burning against his. There is only Kageyama’s hands, graceful and long and beautiful, pushing up below Shouyou’s shirt, dragging flat along the lines of Shouyou’s stomach. His legs, tangled with Shouyou’s, his knee between Shouyou’s thighs. His lips, warm on Shouyou’s neck, his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest. Shouyou’s mouth on Kageyama’s palm, his fingers.

The veins under his skin like fault lines, causing him to tremble and shatter and come undone when Kageyama presses down just right.

There are metaphors, for this. A thousand lines of a thousand poems. Sonnets. Soliloquies. Shouyou doesn’t have words for it, though. For the trauma inside his skin. The ricocheting of his heart.

Heat, heat, heat.

Shouyou’s world is made of fire.

“Shouyou,” Kageyama says, close to his ear, so so so so soft. A promise. A prayer.

Shouyou lets himself moan. Lets Kageyama take him apart. Lets himself say, “Kageyama, Kageyama, _Tobio_.”

 _Tobio_.

The word tastes like freedom and sweat and Kageyama’s skin.

“I love you,” Kageyama says, the words breathed into the curve of Shouyou’s shoulder, the hollow below his chin.

Shouyou touches Kageyama’s face.

 

(The sky bleeds gray. Shouyou prepares himself to step from the fishing barge onto _Seijoh_ ’s deck.

Kageyama says, “Don’t die.”

Shouyou does not answer.)

 

On the island, the air feels changed.

There is ozone hanging over the island, something thick and smoky clinging to Shouyou’s lungs, coating the inside of his mouth. The sand doesn’t give under his feet like it should, doesn’t hold the form of their footprints. It’s too iridescent, too. Sparkling. Like diamonds have been beat against the shore.

The five of them – Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Oikawa, and Shouyou – trace their way along the beach. Shouyou can’t help wondering how many of them will leave it.

Above their heads, the column of darkness, extending into the sky, is revolting. Its borders seem more distinct, today, harsher black against the gray of the sky. Its outline thrashes, sparks, shudders.

“We’re in the shit, now,” Matsukawa says.

“No kidding,” Hanamaki scoffs.

“I believe,” Oikawa says, primly, “that we have worn out our welcome.”

They approach the treeline. Shouyou can feel his hands starting to shake. The trees look skeletal. Fingers, pushing up from below the soil. Clutching at the sky.

Beyond the trees, it is only haze.

“Hinata,” Iwaizumi begins.

“Don’t,” Shouyou says, fiercely. “Please. Don’t give me an out. Don’t tell me I can leave.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, then nods, his face hardening. “Okay,” he says. “This is as far as we go.” He pauses. “Good luck, Hinata.”

Shouyou steps into the treeline.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Hinata Shouyou,” a voice says, in his ear.

This time, when he turns, he meets Akaashi Keiji’s eyes.

“Oh,” Shouyou squeaks, and Akaashi’s mouth turns up into a smile. He looks real, now. As real as Shouyou. Maybe realer. Shouyou can pick out the choppy edges of his bangs, the collected way he holds himself, the scattering of moles on his skin.

“Are you ready?” Akaashi asks, kindly.

“I’m not scared, anymore,” Shouyou says, which doesn’t feel like a yes.

An arm slings around Shouyou’s shoulder, and he turns his head in time to see Bokuto Koutarou wink at him. “You’re a brave kid,” Bokuto says. “Bravery doesn’t mean anything on the other side, though.”

“Nothing means anything on the other side,” Akaashi says.

They push through the trees and burst out into a clearing, a wide tremulous circle where nothing grows. The ground is brown-black and fractured. Rocks jut upwards from the ground in the center, jagged and enormous. The column of darkness extends upwards from that, from a gap in the middle of the rocks.

Shouyou recoils. “ _That’s_ the Fountain of Youth?”

“It’s something,” Bokuto says. “We don’t really know _what_ it is, anymore. There’s no word for it in your language.”

“Gap,” Akaashi tries. “Passage.”

“No. It’s more like… infinity.” Bokuto shakes his head. “Everything. Nothing.”

Shouyou takes a step forward. He reaches out, and when his fingers brush along the air pressed against the column, the shadows undulate. Something like lightning flashes up along the column’s edges, bursting up and into the sky.

“We’ll try to watch over you,” Akaashi’s voice says, both behind Shouyou and inside his head. “We’ll try to keep you from losing yourself.”

(There is no fire at the end of the world.

There is only ice.)

Shouyou takes a step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'd just like to say, from the bottom of my heart, Yikes."  
> \- Hanamaki Takahiro, probably


	15. beneath their own blue sea

At the bottom of the ocean, there is a special kind of darkness.

Miles and miles and miles below the waves, reality gives way to a nearly-perfect, improbable kind of dark, unmarred by light or color. An unblemished nothingness. It is dark like infinity - like a void.

But it  _ is _ imperfect. It is not a void.

It ends, you see.

It must.

There are few concrete truths in this world. Few indisputable facts. Almost everything can be seen from a different point of view, inspected from a different angle, looked at and argued over a hundred different ways. This, however, is not subjective. It is not a matter of opinion.

It is a basic, cardinal law: there cannot be shadow without light, just as light does not exist without the dark.

A true truth.

An irreputable fact.

There is a catch, here, though. A small caveat. Just because one cannot be without the other  _ does not mean they both must be _ .

Do you see?

Here is what Hinata Shouyou learns, as he steps across the barrier:

Inside the Nether, light and dark do not exist at all.

 

He is walking through mist. Smoke-like, dense. There is no smell, no taste, even as the gas fills his mouth and nose and throat. It’s like passing through a storm cloud.

His skin feels electrically charged. Violent. He looks down at himself, and he thinks his skin might be glowing faintly. Pulsing, even. A slow, rhythmic pulsing of light. It is the only thing he can see in the darkness.

_ Release your energy. Light it up. Burn this place to the ground _ , a voice reminds him, inside his head. It might just be a thought, actually. His own voice. It’s hard to say.

_ Burn this to the ground _ , he thinks. And then he reaches out with one hand.

**You will not** **_._ **

The whisper is guttural, warped, harsh. His blood goes cold. His body freezes.

_ Release your energy _ , that helpful mental voice reminds him.

**No** **_._ **

 

(His vision goes black. For a moment, he sees - a forest, a collapsing city, golden eyes, darkness, buildings dripping in shadow - and then it is still, and he sees nothing.)

 

One. Two. Three.

 

Shouyou is five, and standing in the doorway of a house that feels familiar. Wooden floors, paneled walls, the smell of ocean spray. A man with hair the color of a sunset hands him a tiny, intricately carved model of a ship. Presses it into his palm. His fingers curl around it hard enough to hurt.

“You’ll love it, Shouyou,” the man says, and it occurs to him that this man is his father. “When you’re out on the water, it’s like everything else falls away. Like it’s just you and the sea and the air.”

“Like flying,” Shouyou says.

His father smiles and ruffles a heavy hand through Shouyou’s hair.

“Like flying,” he echoes. And then he pulls Shouyou up into his lap and says. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Shouyou nods.

“Because humans don’t have wings, we look for ways to fly.”

 

He is older now, watching a woman - his mother - wrestle socks onto the new baby’s tiny, tiny feet. He is leaning against the door frame, feeling larger than himself. A common side effect of younger siblings.

“She looks so much like you when you were her age,” Shouyou’s mother coos.

“Natsu does _ not _ look like me,” Shouyou grumps, arms folded over his chest. “She’s all… squishy.”

“So were you.”

“I was not!”

“Were too,” his father’s voice says, behind him, and then he’s sweeping Shouyou up and onto his shoulders.

“Yeah, well, I’m not, now,” Shouyou mutters, mulishly. His mother laughs.

 

He is eleven, and his father and mother are on their way to King’s City for the weekend. Shouyou says, for what might be the thousandth time, “I’m going to join the Royal Guard. You’ll see. You’ll  _ have _ to take me with you next time.”

His mother smiles and kisses his cheek. His father looks at him like he believes it.

 

He is standing on the beach, his feet buried in the sand, watching the way the earth moves when he wiggles his toes. Next to him, his sister is piling sand into a round, lumpy castle and humming tunelessly.

The sky is the same color at the ocean. It is impossible to tell when one ends and the other begins.

“Shou-chan, when are Mommy and Daddy coming home?”

“Not today, Natsu,” he says. And then, “Hey, can you show me what you’re building?”

They are not coming home. They are buried, gone. Bloodstains on cobblestones.

Dust.

The sand suddenly feels icy against his skin.

 

Shouyou does not cry.

 

He is thirteen, and he is dreaming. The sea around him catches fire. A boy stands beside him and tells him to run.

Kageyama Tobio reminds Shouyou of a night sky. Of the feeling of being bottomless and weightless and tall. And, for the first time in years, he allows himself to remember that sailing is not the only way to fly.

 

He is seventeen, standing at attention in a sharp, orderly row. One amid dozens of others his age. His uniform collar is itchy against his throat. His feet burn with suppressed motion, with the need to shift or kick or jog in place.

“Name?”

“Private Hinata Shouyou, sir!”

Sawamura Daichi glares at him for a long, heavy moment before his face breaks into the slightest of smiles.

“At ease, Hinata. You look like you’re about to explode.”

The tension leaves his body in a rush, and he groans in relief at the sensation of slumping his shoulders, moving his legs, rolling his shoulders.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, almost reverently, like Captain Sawamura has just given him something immeasurably precious.

Sawamura hesitates, confusion passing across his face, before clapping Shouyou on the shoulder and saying, “I’ve got some people to introduce you to. I think you’ll like them.”

 

He is twenty-one, and, on a routine patrol of the King’s City markets, a petty thief tries to stick a knife through his chest. Tsukishima knocks the blade aside with his arm. He bleeds long enough to make Kiyoko nervous. When Shouyou apologizes, profusely and repeatedly, Tsukishima rolls his eyes and tells him, “Forget it.”

Shouyou doesn’t.

For the first time, he understands what it means to have a crewmate.

 

He is twenty, lying on his back on the roof of the barracks, while Yachi points out constellations he cannot see. He makes up his own, instead - a dinosaur, a unicorn, a dragon. A knight on horseback, bravely riding into battle. A sailor and a pirate, clashing swords. A hurricane. A smile.

“How far do you think the stars are?” Shouyou asks.

Yachi laughs. “Really, really far,” she says. And then she nudges him and adds, “Too far to jump to,” because Shouyou has long since made a name for himself amongst the Guard as being elastic. As buoyant as the sea.

Shouyou rolls his eyes and nudges her back. “Too far to fly to?”

“Yes,” Yachi confirms. “Not too far to dream about, though.”

He thinks, in that moment, of the pirate boy that saved his life. And then he shoves that thought down, smothers it, packs it away. Saves it for dreaming.

 

He is twenty-two, and kneeling on an unfamiliar beach, in unfamiliar sand. Underneath his fingers, Kageyama Tobio’s heartbeat keeps time.

“It’s you,” he hears himself say.

Kageyama’s reply is lost in the wind.

 

He is twenty-two, and he is dreaming. In his ear, Bokuto Koutarou says, over and over and over again,  _ This is Hinata Shouyou. He is going to save us all _ .

 

He is twenty-two, and he is looking Ushijima Wakatoshi in the eyes while the most powerful man in all the kingdom threatens, very calmly, to have him killed and fed to the crows.

 

He is twenty-two, and he is slamming - literally slamming - into Tanaka Ryuunosuke on the street. Nishinoya grins and calls him  _ Shouyou _ . Asahi calls him  _ Ensign _ .

Inside his mind, Kageyama calls him  _ dumbass _ .

 

He is twenty-two, and Kageyama’s kiss burns like whiskey in his mouth.

 

He is twenty-two, and the memories are turning viscous.

Slow.

Dark.

 

He is twenty-two.

 

He is...

 

He

 

is

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Hinata Shouyou. Don’t lose yourself _ .

 

His eyes snap open.

He stands in an enormous, open room. It takes Shouyou a moment to place it, why it’s familiar and yet somehow impossibly strange. And then he realizes that it is an almost exact copy of the throne room back at the castle. The layout is identical - the same pillars, the same dais, the same throne, even the same tapestries. It is the details that are wrong, somehow.

The room is too still. The walls are too tall, too looming, curving inwards on themselves. Teetering on the edge of collapse. His stomach swoops, twists with vertigo. It feels like he’s standing between two huge buildings and staring directly upwards, and it looks like they’re about to fall down.

He takes a step forward, and the whole room groans softly. There’s a quiet crumbling sound, like distant falling rock.

He goes still. Freezes. Looks down at the foot he just stepped forward with.

His boots are black and shiny. Newish. He recognizes the tiny nick on the toe of the left one, left by a pocket knife that he’d kicked out of a mugger’s hands. The first pair of boots he owned, the ones they gave him when he registered as a trainee.

His uniform, too. Deep, navy blue. Undecorated, unadorned. The collar too high, the shoulders too stiff. His uniform from basic training.

The sleeves are ever so slightly too short.

“Hello?” he tries, but his voice doesn’t come. Or, at least, not like usual. It echoes inside his head, reverberates inside his throat. But he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear anything.

There are shadows dancing at the corner of his vision. When he turns his head to look at them, they disappear.

His shoulders are heavy. His eyelids, too. Every inch of him, a thousand pounds heavier than they’d been before.

He’s tired.

No.

Drained?

His hand drifts up to rest, perfectly, on the mark of a handprint left on his shoulder. Fingers trembling, he slides his hand down his arm and, fumbling, rolls up his sleeve.

His skin is mottled black. Oozing with shadow, dripping with it. He watches as they writhe and spread across his skin.

_ Release your energy. Burn it to the ground _ .

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Shouyou says, harshly, and this time it does come out audibly. He feels like an idiot. Of course, of course, they had all warned him that the darkness would fight back. Obviously it would use his memories against him. He should’ve known.

He should’ve known.

“Fuck,” he repeats.

His arm aches below his fingertips. Panic is starting to set into his bones, sink through his skin. There’s still time, though. He knows it. He’s drained, but he hasn’t failed, yet.

He stretches a hand out.

“You will not survive.”

Shouyou freezes. He turns, slowly, to see King Ushijima cross the dais and take a seat on the throne. His face is set and serious, his shoulders draped in a lavish cloak of what looks like gold.

“Hinata Shouyou,” he says. “It’s ironic, isn’t it. The Fountain of Youth, giver of eternal life, the reason for the end of the world.”

“Nothing’s ended yet,” Shouyou informs him. “And you’re not real.”

Ushijima’s eyes close.

“Come, Hinata Shouyou. You know better than that by now. There is no  _ real _ or  _ false _ . Truth is quite entirely a matter of perspective.”

“You won’t stop me,” Shouyou says, his hands folding into fists at his sides. “I know I might die. I knew it from the beginning.”

“I know.” Ushijima rests his elbows on the arms of his throne. “I know you did. And I believe you will finish this. But you still want to live. And now I can tell you for certain: if you do this, you will die.”

Shouyou glares at him.

His eyes lift to catch with Shouyou’s.

“What will you do, Hinata Shouyou?”

Shouyou’s hands close into fists.

“I’m going to save the world.”

“Then,” Ushijima says, “do it.”

His hand closes around Ushijima Wakatoshi’s. Ushijima bows his head. Hairline fractures, oozing light, trace along the ceiling, the floor, the walls. Ushijima’s face and chest.

“Ah,” Ushijima says. “Sunlight.”

And then the darkness implodes.


	16. but peaceful sleep is ever there, beneath the dark blue waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end, and a beginning.

“Sitting here and brooding isn’t making anything happen more quickly, you know, Captain.”

Daichi jumps and tears his gaze away from the horizon line, his heart leaping into his mouth. Suga smiles at the reaction - overkill and graceless as always; way to go, Daichi - and drops down to sit next to him. He folds his legs beneath him neatly before holding out a small bundle towards Daichi.

“I thought you might be getting cold,” he says, with wide eyes and an earnest expression and his stupid voice that sounds like the stupid bells at the gates of stupid heaven. “You’ve been out all night.”

Daichi takes the bundle - a blanket - from Suga’s fingers, trying to ignore the way the contact makes heat bloom in his chest and on his cheeks. It doesn’t work, of course. It never works.

“Thanks,” he whispers, quiet and soft and maybe  _ slightly  _ tearful. Just slightly. And then he clears his throat and repeats, more gruffly, “Thanks,” because the first time sounded a little too much like a confession.

Suga smiles and then frowns and then makes a face that’s somehow both at once. “You need to take care of yourself too, you know. You push yourself so hard, Daichi. I’m not sure you know when to stop.”

“I’m not sleeping until they’re safe,” Daichi says, firmly.

“Why not?” Suga asks. He’s genuinely worried, Daichi thinks. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what he could possibly have done to deserve the concern of someone like Sugawara Koushi.

_ Why not? _

Why not.

“I just can’t,” Daichi mutters. “I feel… useless. Lazy. Sitting here doing nothing while Hinata could be…”

“He’s not dead,” Suga assures him, and Daichi takes a deep, slow breath. Suga’s been saying the same thing just about every hour since Hinata disappeared -  _ he’s not dead. I still See him. He still has a future _ . Daichi doesn’t know how he feels about it. Grateful, mostly. But also frustrated, and impotent, and like a horrible excuse for a captain.

“It’s not your fault,” Suga reminds him.

(Daichi sometimes feels like Sugawara Koushi can see inside his damn head.)

“He’s my responsibility, Suga,” Daichi says. “They all are. Kageyama and Yamaguchi, too - I feel responsible for them, as well. I let them go. Even Kuroo thought-”

“You really think you could’ve made Kageyama stay?”

Daichi pauses, wringing his hands together in his lap.

Suga sighs. “Kageyama and Hinata are tied together, Daichi. Their futures are bound. And they love each other. People like that are, in my experience, pretty goddamn hard to keep apart.”

Daichi blinks. “That was so sappy, Suga.”

A smile blooms on Suga’s face. “I try.”

The sun is coming up now, climbing up over the horizon and staining the beach orange-gold. There’s still no sign of a disturbance - no sound, no rippling, no mysterious ghost ship appearing in the distance. In fact, the sea looks too calm. It almost feels like it’s pulling back off the shoreline. Running in reverse.

It feels like there should be  _ something _ . An earthquake, a monsoon, a cataclysm. Not this silence.

Daichi’s decided that he really fucking hates silence.

“Can you tell me how this ends?” Daichi asks.

Suga’s shoulder brushes up against his. The slightest pressure, more of a suggestion than a feeling. “There’s nothing clear right now. Too many different outcomes, too many different fates to sort through. I’m sorry, Daichi,” Suga says, but Daichi’s sort of forgotten what question he’d even asked in the first place. He’s lost in the smell of Suga’s skin and the closeness of Suga’s face and the idea of what Suga’s lips would maybe taste like, if Daichi was brave enough.

If, if, if.

_ I’m an idiot _ , Daichi thinks, miserably. And then,  _ Life’s too short to not be kissing Sugawara Koushi _ .

And then Suga’s head snaps up. Daichi reels back in surprise as Suga swings around to face him, splotches of pink high in his cheeks, eyes wide.

“W-what-?” Daichi begins.

Suga says, his voice fierce, his eyes blazing, “I Saw.”

Oh.

Fuck.

Shit.

_ Fuck _ shit.

So maybe Daichi  _ is _ brave enough. Maybe he is brave to the point that that he really  _ had _ been about lean in. To put his hand on Suga’s cheek and touch Suga’ mole with his thumb. To bump his nose against Suga’s. To lean in.

Maybe he is brave enough that Suga would’ve Seen it.

Panic explodes in Daichi’s chest.

“I’m sorry!” he half-shouts, horrified, launching himself onto his knees so he can drop into a bow. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Suga, I don’t want to - you’re - I don’t want to lose you and I’m really, really sorry-”

Suga slaps a hand on his face and drags it down, raising his eyes to the sky. “For God’s sake,” he gasps. “Don’t  _ apologize _ , you stupid, handsome, ridiculous  _ dork _ ,  _ do  _ it.”

Wait.

_ Wait _ .

What?

Suga glares at him for another long moment before snapping, “Oh, my God,” balling his hands in Daichi’s blanket, and yanking him forward.

Suga’s mouth fits Daichi’s like it was made to; he kisses Daichi like he was born knowing how. Knowing  _ everything _ \- exactly which way to tilt his head, how to soften the surprised line of Daichi’s mouth with his own, where to put his hands. His mouth is warm against Daichi’s. He tastes like salt water and of cold. Daichi thinks vaguely that he was sort of expecting him to taste like roses.

(Daichi’s having trouble thinking at all anything other than,  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit. Fuck _ , combined with Suga’s name.)

They part slowly, Suga sneaking in another short kiss against the corner of Daichi’s mouth. He’s looking rather proud of himself as he draws away, hands leaving Daichi’s shoulders to trail down his chest.

“Not bad, Captain,” Suga chirps, and something incredibly fucking embarrassing begins to cross Daichi’s mind.

“Oh, my God,” Daichi says. “Oh. My God. You knew all along, didn’t you? You knew that I liked you. You could See it. Why didn’t you  _ say _ anything? Oh, my God-”

Suga knocks his forehead gently against Daichi’s, his smile becoming more than a little smug. “It wasn’t my place to know, yet.”

“I’m an idiot,” Daichi says, wonderingly.

Suga taps his cheek gently and leans in again, his lips just barely brushing against Daichi’s when someone clears their throat behind them.

“Um. Hi,” Asahi says, face crimson, looking mortified. “I brought tea.”

Suga bursts out laughing.

 

The sun has long since risen by the time anything changes. Asahi is reluctantly letting Suga braid his hair while Suga drills him about his relationship with Nishinoya, Daichi sipping tea and laughing at the both of them, when Suga suddenly bolts to his feet, his face pale.

“Daichi,” he says, grabbing Daichi’s arm. “Daichi,  _ look _ .”

And there, on the horizon, a point is materializing, slow and gradual. A familiar ship, pitch-dark, built from shadow.

“ _ Seijoh _ ,” Daichi gasps.

Suga yanks him to his feet.

 

Tadashi, at this point, is half-convinced that Kageyama has not taken a single breath in the past hour and a half.

He’s been standing against the bannister ever since Hinata was rowed across the bay and left on the beach. He’s been stock-still for so long, hands clutching white-knuckled at the wood, staring stony-faced out at the island. Nothing’s happening, though, Tadashi thinks. Like, really, really  _ nothing _ . The column of darkness is still there, extending upwards from the treeline. The sea is calm like glass.

“He’s going to be fine,” Tadashi says for what must be close to the tenth time, now. Kageyama doesn’t move. If anything, he looks paler. More frightened.

“Kageyama,” Tadashi says, gently. “This won’t bring him back.”

Kageyama’s jaw clenches. “I know,” he says. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Behind them, at the helm, Oikawa makes a little noise that might be a snort. Iwaizumi immediately punches him in the arm.

Oikawa reels back. “So mean! What did I do this time?”

“You’re making fun of him, Asskawa.”

“I’m not! I just didn’t know our Tobio-chan was capable of making friends!”

“ _ Please _ shut up,” Iwaizumi says, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m begging you. Please.”

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I didn’t know Tobio-chan was capable of getting a  _ boyfriend _ .”

Oikawa looks smug. Iwaizumi looks exhausted. Tadashi sneaks a glance at Kei, who’s looking close to taking a swing at Oikawa himself.

“Tsukki,” he says, quietly, so that Oikawa and Iwaizumi can’t hear. “I do think he’ll come back.”

“I’m not worried about that little gremlin,” Kei says, shortly, but his lips are pressed thin and Tadashi recognizes the set to his shoulders, the sharp look in his eyes. He looked like that when they were kids, too. Often about Tadashi.

“It’s okay to worry about your friends, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, trying to keep his tone gentle.

“Thanks for the advice, Yamaguchi.” Needle-sharp words. Intended to wound. “And don’t call me that.”

And - wow, okay, yeah. That hurts. It hurts somewhere Tadashi doesn’t expect it to: a weak, soft part of his heart that he’d thought had long since hardened.

“Kei,” he begins, and Kei shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says. “Seriously.”

“ _ Kei _ ,” Tadashi repeats. “We need to talk about this-”

“I don’t want to.”

Tadashi reels back. “We  _ have _ to. You know we have to. Kei, please.”

His face stays stony for a long moment, eyes trained on the deck, before he finally gives a short, terse nod.

Tadashi reaches forward and touches his arm. “I just… I need you to know that when I left, it was because I needed to. I didn’t  _ want _ to leave you behind, I just…”

Kei isn’t moving, head still bowed, stance still tense. Tadashi plows on.

“I didn’t want to take over my father’s business,” he says. “I didn’t want to be an orphan, alone in that  _ house _ , waking up in the middle of the night expecting to hear him walking or playing the piano and instead just hearing nothing. I didn’t want to keep pretending Yamaguchi Tadashi was someone who could please everyone. I needed to be me, instead of trying to be someone else.”

Kei’s eyebrows scrunch together, his eyes pressing closed.

“I knew, if I told you, you would drop everything and come. Kei,” Tadashi says, quietly. “I knew you would. But you’d wanted to join the Guard like Akiteru since we were six. How could I take that from you?”

“It isn’t about that,” Kei says. He looks furious and embarrassed and horrified all at once, bright patches of red high in his cheeks.

“Then what  _ is _ it about? If I had stayed-”

“Would it have been so bad?” Tadashi blinks, surprised. Kei finally turns his head to look at him, full-moon eyes bright. “Would staying - with me - really have been so bad.”

Tadashi stares.

And then there is a tremor, and then the column of darkness explodes.

They hit the deck fast, Kageyama’s sword in his hand immediately, even though there’s no enemy to fight. As shadow bursts outwards, rushes over them like water, Tadashi’s body automatically curves towards Kei’s like he could shield him or something. Kei’s hand finds Tadashi’s shoulder and presses down, and the boat rocks around them, the sea roaring like wind, and the sky turns pitch dark, unbelievably dark…

_ I’m going to die _ , Tadashi thinks, over and over and over again.  _ I’m going to die I’m going to die _ -

And then it is over.

Silent.

Still.

They straighten up slowly, one by one. The island is motionless, and the column of darkness is completely, entirely gone. Sun breaks through the clouds and drips across the sky like rain. Waves rock the boat, steadily, regularly. Kei’s hand drops from Tadashi’s shoulder, but Tadashi catches it before he can pull away.

Above them, he catches a glimpse of blue.

“He did it,” Oikawa says, like he can’t quite believe it.

“He did it,” Iwaizumi echoes. “He actually fucking did it.”

Pandemonium. Hanamaki and Matsukawa launch themselves onto Iwaizumi’s shoulders, while Oikawa stoops to pick him up in a bridal carry and spin. Watari and Yahaba are jumping and spinning, Kindaichi lifts Kunimi into the air, Kyoutani slumps to the deck and buries his face in his hands, Tadashi is beaming like an idiot, and Kageyama...

Kageyama.

Kageyama does not move. He stays motionless, gaze fixed on the island, breathing uneven.

“He did it,” Tadashi says, breathless, knocking a hand against Kageyama’s arm. “It’s over. He’s-”

“He’s not back,” Kageyama says. And then, through clenched teeth, he adds, “I can’t feel him.”

“Oh,” Tadashi says.

Oh,  _ no _ .

The celebration dies down behind them. Oikawa slowly lets Iwaizumi to the ground. Watari and Yahaba drop their clasped hands. Kyoutani lifts his eyes to the sky.

“God fucking dammit,” Hanakami says.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Oikawa growls. Tadashi can see the confusion on his face, mixed with something that might be worry. That might be remorse. “The darkness is gone. The tear is fixed. If he managed that, then why-?”

“We need to give it time,” Iwaizumi interjects, stepping forward. “He might just still be on the other side. Panicking won’t do us any good.”

The line of Kageyama’s mouth presses, if possible, even thinner. But - maybe because it’s Iwaizumi - he gives a short, terse nod and turns his gaze back to the island, with a murderous expression that would probably scare the hell out of Tadashi if he didn’t know Kageyama well enough to see the fear and the concern burning in his eyes.

“Come on,” Tadashi mutters. “Come on, come on, Hinata.  _ Please _ -”

Minutes pass, slow and viscous, before a figure appears on the beach, emerging from the treeline. Tadashi’s heart leaps, and Kageyama jerks forward, but then a second person appears, and they’re both the wrong shape to be Hinata - both of them far too tall, one too broad, the other too graceful. And then Tadashi sees the form lying, motionless, in the bulkier figure’s arms. Small, slight, the sun turning his hair to fire.

“No,” Kageyama mutters.

Tadashi does not move.

He watches, waits, as Oikawa gives the order for Hanamaki and Matsukawa to row over to the beach and pick them up. He watches, waits, as they load the newcomers and Hinata onto the boat and then onto the ship. He watches, waits, as Kageyama sprints forward, as they place Hinata’s body in his arms, as Kageyama goes to his knees, smoothing the hair off Hinata’s forehead.

He’s so, so still. Stiller than Tadashi’s ever seen him. There are smudges of black, swirls, tattoos splashed like ink all over his body. One spreads over the left side of his face. Another emanates upward from his fingertips. Kageyama’s hand brushes against one that runs, bruise-like, along his throat.

He looks small.

Tadashi realizes that he’s never really thought of Hinata as small before.

The two strangers straighten up, looking around the deck, and Tadashi’s eyes catch with a pair of golden ones that resonate with him rather painfully. And then the other man, the slighter, dark-haired one speaks - “Hello again, Captain.” - and it is unmistakably the voice from Tadashi’s dreams.

Tadashi physically reels back. Kei’s hand catches his arm before he can stumble.

“Koutarou. Keiji.” Oikawa inclines his head. His voice sounds like he’s trying for his usual bravado, but his eyes are narrow and fixed steadily on Hinata. “What happened?”

“He did it,” the broader, strange-haired, golden-eyed one says. And then he adds, rather proudly, “I thought he would.”

Kageyama makes a sharp movement that’s impeded by the boy in his lap, fury breaking across his face like a wave. The dark-haired stranger steps forward, putting himself between Kageyama and the golden-eyed one.

“Kageyama Tobio,” he says, his voice clear and ringing, and Kageyama goes still.

The golden-eyed one pauses to look at Kageyama. “That’s him?” he says, bouncing on his toes and peering over the other’s shoulder. “Wow, he  _ is _ handsome. No wonder Shouyou likes him.”

“Bokuto-san.”

“Aw, come on, Akaashi. Am I wrong?”

Akaashi rolls his eyes and moves forward to place a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder. And maybe Tadashi is crazy - finally losing it, after all this nonsense - but he thinks that, just for a split second, Akaashi’s form wavers. Becomes form _ less _ , like shadow.

“Don’t touch me,” Kageyama snarls, but Akaashi shakes his head.

“Kageyama Tobio,” he repeats. “Shouyou is alive.”

Kageyama freezes.

He looks slowly, from Akaashi’s face to the boy in his arms. Slowly, haltingly, he adjusts the hand on Hinata’s throat to feel for his pulsepoint. There’s a long pause.

Kageyama’s shoulders go slack. His hand moves to cup Hinata’s cheek.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” he asks, his voice cracking with relief.

“Oh, oh, I know this one!” Bokuto hops and raises his hand. “When he closed the tear, the Nether intervened.”

“It  _ what _ ?” Iwaizumi asks.

“It what,” Kageyama echoes, flatly.

“The Nether is a place to find things that you’ve lost,” Akaashi explains, patiently. “Or a place where you lose the things you were never meant to find. It’s a place, but it’s also a consciousness, if that makes sense. And I think Shouyou impressed it.”

“It redirected his energy through his hand,” Bokuto chimes. “And stemmed the outflow of light before he was drained. It sort of looks like a handprint or something, look. Like he shook hands with the Nether or something.” He spreads his hands out wide. “Neat, huh?”

Kageyama’s face stays decidedly blank. His fingertips bump along Hinata’s cheek again.

“He’ll be fine,” Akaashi assures them. “He needs time to recover. Rest.”

“What about you?” Tadashi blurts.

Akaashi and Bokuto turn, in one motion, to look at him. Bokuto’s mouth curves upwards into a smile.

“You’re one of ours, aren’t you?” he asks.

Tadashi nods. “You’re tied to the Nether, aren’t you? What happens to you now?”

“We stay,” Akaashi says. “We guard the Fountain. We try to ensure that this never happens again.”

“How exceedingly altruistic,” Oikawa says, dryly.

“Forgive me for not being too concerned about the opinion of the man who caused this in the first place,” Akaashi responds smoothly.

“That’s fair,” Iwaizumi says.

Bokuto roars with laughter. “You’re all fun.” He grins. “I wish we could stay longer.”

“I don’t.” Akaashi props a hand on his hip. “We have a job to do. Let’s go home, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah,” Tadashi says, stepping forward so he can crouch down next to Hinata and Kageyama, place a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

 

After what feels like days of sailing inside the Nether, the shoreline appears suddenly - one moment, they are bathed in fog and the next, it is clear, and the sun is shining yellow off the waves.

“Fucking finally,” Kei mutters, next to him, and Tadashi privately - vehemently - agrees. “This ship’s a piece of shit.”

“Curb the attitude, blondie,” Oikawa calls from the helm, and Kei’s nose scrunches up expressively. Tadashi muffles laughter behind his hand and Kei shoots him a dirty look out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s just showing off, now,” Kei grumbles.

“I mean, if you’re going to have superhuman powers, you might as well use them,” Tadashi points out. “Wouldn’t  _ you  _ use it?”

Kei considers that. “I wouldn’t want superhuman powers in the first place.”

“No?” Tadashi can see the iron wall, now. It’s blindingly silver in the sun. Nothing in the Nether looked that bright. Everything sort of looked… dull.

“Tobio! There it is!” someone shouts, behind them, and they turn at the same time to watch Hinata hobbling enthusiastically over to them, Kageyama’s arm slung around his waist so he can support Hinata’s weight. “I see it, I see it!”

Kei’s eyebrows fly up at the name  _ Tobio _ . Kageyama’s cheeks flush and he studiously refuses to meet Kei’s eyes.

“You’re too loud, dumbass,” he mutters.

Hinata elbows him in the side. Kageyama wheezes.

“Literally  _ how _ do you have the energy to bicker right now?” Kei demands. “Aren’t you on death’s door or something?”

Hinata sticks his tongue at him and tries to take off towards the bow of the ship. Kageyama catches him around the waist. Kei rolls his eyes.

Tadashi’s chest is full, suddenly, of burning, effervescent affection. For Kei, and for Kageyama, and for the brave, bright boy standing in front of him, skin marked - probably permanently - by darkness.

Impulsively, Tadashi surges forward and pulls them all into a hug. Kei makes a little noise of protest and Kageyama coughs in surprise, but Hinata beams and shuffles in closer, resting his chin on Tadashi’s shoulder.

“This is stupid,” Kei mutters.

Hinata punches him. “Gee, I sure am happy you made it out all right, too, Stingyshima.”

“Curb the attitude, blondie,” Tadashi says, in his best Oikawa voice, and when Kei gives a quick, startled laugh, it feels like Tadashi’s chest is glowing.

 

Both crews -  _ Nekoma _ and  _ Karasuno _ \- are waiting for them when they dock. Tadashi lets Kageyama and Hinata hobble off, Hinata insisting on walking under his own power instead of being carried, before he follows Kei and disembarks himself.

There’s chaos on the dock. Tanaka’s swept Hinata up onto his shoulders, Nishinoya’s ruffling Kageyama’s hair, at least three people are fussing over Kei, and Daichi looks like he’s literally crying. Tadashi’s watching that small blond girl - Yachi - wring Kageyama’s hand and thank him profusely when he’s tackled from behind, and suddenly half of  _ Nekoma _ is piled on top of him.

“We missed you!” Inuoka wails, and Tadashi’s smiling hard enough to hurt.

“Come on, come on, let the kid breathe,” Kuroo’s voice calls, and the crowd parts to let him and Kenma through. Tadashi ducks his head respectfully and Kuroo clicks his tongue. “None of that,” he says, sharply. “Who the hell should be bowin’ to who, here?”

Tadashi flushes. “I didn’t help much.”

“It’s not about  _ helping _ ,” Kuroo says, waving a hand. “It’s about standing instead of running.”

Tadashi goes still.

Kuroo’s shaking his hand, Kenma inclining his head and smiling his almost-smile. Inuoka keeps hugging him and crying, Lev has kissed him on the forehead at least twice, and Tadashi lets himself wonder, just for a moment, what life would look like if he had never joined  _ Nekoma _ ’s crew.

He wouldn’t be himself, he thinks.

He thinks he would be less.

Tadashi’s eyes catch with Kei’s from across the crowd. Kei looks at him for a long moment, something indescribable passing over his expression, before looking away, back to  _ Karasuno _ ’s vice captain.

Kuroo claps a hand on Tadashi’s shoulder.

“Don’t leave today with regrets, kiddo,” he says, quietly, and, suddenly, Tadashi knows.

He pushes his way through the crowd, ducking under arms and dodging around people. Ennoshita blinks in surprise when Tadashi rushes up to them, giving Kei just enough advance notice to turn around before Tadashi places his hands on his shoulders.

He looks at Kei, serious eyes blazing bright.

“I’m through with running,” he says.

Kei’s expression softens. “I know,” he answers.

And when Tadashi pulls Kei down to press a gentle kiss to his mouth, he does not pull away.

(It isn’t their first, but it feels like it is.)

 

ONE WEEK LATER

After staring down death and facing the end of the world, Shouyou sort of thought that returning to King’s City and submitting to Ushijima Wakatoshi for judgement may not be so bad. After all, what’s a king compared to a mindless, ravenous gap eating its way through time and space? This should be comparatively simple. A walk in the park.

Ha-ha. Yeah, right.

When Daichi first finishes telling the story, Ushijima says nothing. He lifts himself out of his throne slowly, face blank. His eyes are thoughtful and fixed on Daichi, who stands in front of the king in his finest uniform, decorated with medals and a wine-red sash. The rest of his regiment, plus Kageyama, stands behind him, strict at attention.

Shouyou’s trying very hard not to fidget or cry. Reaching out for Kageyama is also out of the question, although that would be nice, too.

Since getting out of the Nether -  _ since literally actually almost dying _ , his brain so kindly reminds him - it’s been hard standing upright for long periods of time. The shadows on his skin have mostly faded; they look like odd, mottled bruises now, instead of blotches of tar. But he still feels them in his muscles, inscribed on his bones.

He gets tired quickly, now. Frustrated, with himself and with his body. He keeps going weak at the knees. Stumbling over nothing. Falling mid-step.

Kageyama usually catches him.

Maybe  _ that’s _ why Shouyou wants, desperately, to be touching Kageyama right now.

(Then again, maybe not.)

Finally, Ushijima breaks the silence, his voice a low rumble. “Let me ensure that I’m entirely clear on this. What you’re telling me, Captain, is that, in the past month and a half, you deserted your post, released a prisoner, fled the capitol, commissioned a mercenary ship, potentially endangered the kingdom’s relationship with Date Kougyou and the other cities to the north, and engaged in open warfare with the ghost ship _Seijoh_. Did I miss anything glaringly important?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Daichi says, with a quick, deferential duck of his head. “We also saved the world.”

Shouyou makes a quick mental note that Sawamura Daichi is the coolest person he knows.

“Ah, yes,” Ushijima says, and Shouyou scrunches up his shoulders to make himself smaller. “The redheaded ensign who sacrificed himself to save us all. A fascinating story.”

“It was even better in person,” Tsukishima says, dryly.

Ushijima lifts an eyebrow. “I’m sure.”

There’s another long silence, during which Ushijima stares them down and most of them stare down at their feet.

“Captain,” Ushijima finally says. “Am I to understand that your crew was acting under your orders for the duration of this…  _ event _ ?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Daichi says.

“And you - and your crew - wish to leave my service.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“And you’re requesting a full pardon for the bandit Kageyama Tobio in exchange for his services to the crown. Is that correct?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Ushijima’s staring at Daichi with an expression that might be impressed and might be baffled. “Where will you go, Captain Sawamura?”

Daichi smiles, soft, and shrugs. “Back to  _ Karasuno _ . I hear for-hire crews are paid pretty well.”

Ushijima’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “I didn’t take you for a mercenary.”

Daichi shakes his head. “No, sire. I want to  _ help _ people. That’s what I’m meant for, I think. And I know I’ve blown my chance to do it here, but I really, truly believe that I can do it with  _ Karasuno _ .”

Ushijima’s expression settles. Shouyou’s half-expecting him to order them all to be executed when he says, quite evenly, “Fine.”

Daichi stares. “Fine?”

“Fine,” Ushijima says. “Request granted.”

Kageyama’s fingertips press, just for a moment, against Shouyou’s back.

_ Thanks _ , Shouyou tries to think at him, and Kageyama touches him, very briefly, one more time.

Daichi snaps into a sharp salute. “Thank you for your generosity, your majesty.”

Ushijima looks at him, and Shouyou could swear - honestly, he could  _ swear _ \- that the shadow of a smile crosses Ushijima’s face.

“Just get out of here, Captain,” he says. “And if you’re going to save the world again, please do let me know next time.”

Daichi bows, and the rest of the crew follows. Shouyou pops up just a half-second too late, and finally - horribly - the king’s eyes come to rest on him.

“It seems we owe you our lives, Ensign,” Ushijima says.

Shouyou says, “You don’t owe me anything, your majesty.”

Ushijima tilts his head thoughtfully and, okay, yeah, he’s definitely smiling now.

“What will you do, Hinata Shouyou?” he asks.

“Anything,” Shouyou says. “Everything.”

 

As soon as the throne room doors close behind them, Shouyou collapses against the wall, clutching ineffectually at his chest.

“That… was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he wheezes.

Daichi claps a hand on his shoulder. “You said that the first time you talked to Ushijima.”

“I was wrong. This time was worse. Way, way worse. So much worse.”

The crew begins to file out of the hall, on their way to clear their things from the barracks for the last time. Before she leaves, Yachi smiles and pats Shouyou on the back. “You looked  _ super _ brave, though. Really impressive. Right, Kageyama-san?” Kageyama freezes as she swings around to look at him.

“Uh. Sure,” Kageyama says.

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

Kageyama waits until Yachi’s followed the rest of them out of the hallway to add, “Actually, you looked like you were about to pass out.”

Shouyou’s jaw drops. “No way. I did not.”

“You so did.”

“I did not! I’ve faced way worse than the king!”

“Yeah, well, you probably looked like shit then, too.”

Shouyou pounces on him. Kageyama gives a little yelp of surprise and tries to wrestle Shouyou’s hands away from his face. They end up a tangled mess of limbs, Kageyama’s fingers warm around Shouyou’s wrist, and, oh, shit, now is  _ not _ the time to be thinking about what it felt like to have Kageyama’s tongue inside his mouth and Kageyama’s hands on his stomach and Kageyama’s knee between his thighs.

Shouyou physically launches himself backwards, planting himself at a safe distance. Kageyama’s looking flushed, too, his eyes studiously fixed up at the ceiling.

Shouyou clears his throat.

Kageyama glances down to glare at him for half a second before returning his gaze back up. “What  _ will _ you do now?” he asks, his voice breaking high just once before settling back to normal. “Will you stay with  _ Karasuno _ ?”

Shouyou allows himself a small smile, leaning against the wall and tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling, too. “When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a member of the royal guard. That was like, my ultimate dream. Did you know that?”

Kageyama frowns and shakes his head. “But the king-”

“I think,” Shouyou interrupts, scooting half a step closer so that his arm and Kageyama’s touch. “I have a new dream.”

Kageyama’s ears turn pink. “What…?”

“Well, I still want to sail, obviously,” he says. And then he shifts, allows his hand to bump up against Kageyama’s. Their palms meet, Kageyama’s fingertips grazing Shouyou’s, before their fingers knot together. “I just figure this time I could sail with  _ you _ . If you want.”

Kageyama’s skin is warm. Like summer. 

Shouyou wants to kiss him.

“You’re still a dumbass,” Kageyama says, quietly.

Shouyou laughs and allows himself a small reward - he leans over and presses his lips, just briefly to the place in the curve of Kageyama’s shoulder where shirt meets skin. Kageyama freezes.

“You’re still an idiot,” Shouyou says, immeasurably affectionately.

Kageyama stays stock-still for a moment before wheeling around and tucking Shouyou up against the wall, his hands coming to rest on Shouyou’s shoulders. Their lips catch, Kageyama ducking down and Shouyou popping up onto his tip-toes, and it is every bit as magic as it was in the Nether. Maybe even more.

Shouyou pulls back, ever-so-slightly.

“Tobio,” he says, and Kageyama sighs against his mouth.

“What?”

“There’s somebody I need to introduce you to properly, I think.”

Kageyama’s eyes snap open. “Who?” he asks, cautiously.

Shouyou laughs and presses another quick kiss to his mouth.

 

Natsu’s grown a lot since Shouyou last saw her. She’s waiting for him on the beach where they used to play as kids, just a minute’s walk from where they used to live, and it’s a little weird to see her standing in the sand without kicking at it or dropping to her knees to build a castle.

Her hair’s much shorter than it used to be, almost as short as his. She has more freckles, too.

“Shouyou!” she calls when she sees him, jumping up and down and waving with her whole body. Shouyou beams and waves back, half-running and half-sliding down the beach to meet her.

He sweeps her up into a hug and she dumps a handful of sand over his head.

“ _ Rude _ ,” he gasps, squirming away from her and trying to shake the sand out of his shirt. Natsu roars with laughter.

“You’re getting soft, Shouyou,” she sings, leaping backwards to dodge as he lunges at her.

“I am not!” Shouyou protests, affronted.

Natsu snorts. “You  _ so _ are. What do they even teach you at that fancy boat club?”

“It’s not a  _ boat club _ , it’s the  _ navy _ -”

“Hinata.”

Both Shouyou and Natsu turn to watch Kageyama jumping down onto the beach to join them, his steps steady and balanced, even on the loose sand. Natsu’s eyes go narrow for a second before something like recognition dawns across her face and her jaw drops.

“You’re kidding,” she says.

Kageyama coughs, reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Hello,” he mumbles.

Shouyou beams up at him and snags his wrist, tugging him forward. Kageyama looks appalled.

“I’m… Kageyama Tobio,” he says, ducking into a shallow bow after shooting Shouyou a dirty look. “It’s nice to… um. Meet you. Again.”

Natsu blinks. “The pirate,” she says. “Right?”

“I.” Kageyama frowns. “Yes. I was a pirate. Now, I’m his… um.”

“Lover,” Shouyou interjects, stepping forward and slings his arm around Kageyama’s shoulders. It’s a challenge. He has to get up on his tip-toes to do it.

Kageyama goes scarlet.

“Oh,” Natsu says. She squints at Kageyama for another long moment before propping a hand on her hip and saying, cheerfully, “That’s a surprise.”

Shouyou winces. “I know, I’m sorry - it’s a big deal, and I should’ve been keeping you updated - on, like,  _ everything _ , I know, but at  _ least _ on this - I could’ve told you I like boys at least, but I just-”

Natsu lifts an eyebrow. “Not  _ that _ .” She turns to Kageyama and jabs her finger in Shouyou’s direction. “I don’t know if you know this, but he’s been, like, obsessed with you since we were kids. Just for the record.”

Kageyama looks surprised and then a little too pleased with himself. Shouyou jabs him with an elbow.

Natsu shakes her head. “I’m surprised that you’re together. I’m surprised Shouyou looks like he spilled ink all over his body. I’m surprised that you’re  _ safe _ , Shouyou. It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you. What the hell happened?”

Shouyou sighs, pushes a hand through his hair. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“It’s fine,” Kageyama blurts. Shouyou turns, surprised, to look at him. He knocks his knee against Shouyou’s thigh.

“It’s fine,” he says, again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“We have time.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AFTER

Hajime perches on the railings at  _ Seijoh’s _ bow, his chin resting on one knee. He watches the sea part before them, bright and blue, and thinks maybe it won’t be so bad, to live forever.

“Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt yourself, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime lashes out half-heartedly and is rewarded with a quiet  _ oof _ when his hand catches Oikawa in the side.

“So mean,” Oikawa pouts, gracefully swinging himself up and over the railing to sit at Hajime’s side.

“It’s a habit,” Hajime says. Oikawa nudges him sharply with an elbow.

“Why aren’t you charmed by my good looks, Iwa-chan? Everyone else is.”

“It’s because I know they’re a cover for your shitty personality.”

“Rude.”

“I try.”

They’re quiet for a moment, Oikawa shifting himself just slightly so his hip is bumping Hajime’s.

“Did we do the right thing, Hajime?” he finally asks, quietly.

Hajime sighs. “That kid saved the world, Tooru. No more monsters. No more nightmares. It’s over.”

“It’s over,” Oikawa echoes. His head lands heavy on Hajime’s shoulder.

“Let’s go home, Iwa-chan,” he says, softly.

For the first time in years, Hajime smiles.

It is peaceful, at the end of the world.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for coming on this journey with me. OST has been an absolutely incredible experience for me, start to finish, and I'm so honored and grateful to have received your support and your feedback. I really do think I'm a stronger writer because of it, and I had so much fun working on this one! I can't believe it's done OTL
> 
> If you want to ask me questions or scream with me about pirate au's (!!!!!) you can find me at [theroyalsavage](http://theroyalsavage.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Or you could tag your posts "on stranger tides: fic" and I'll keep an eye on that. (Please send me your posts if I haven't responded to them in some way, since I tend to miss notifications rip.)
> 
> Onwards and upwards, good night and good luck.


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